


Forever Lies Beyond the Tracks

by dandelionsandroses



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionsandroses/pseuds/dandelionsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When railroad executive Peeta Mellark first came to town, Katniss Everdeen never expected to end up here. "I guess I will just come out and say it. I'm pregnant, Peeta." A life with a wealthy yankee was never in her plans, but sometimes fate works out that way. Historical AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but original content. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. Originally written for promptsinpanem, will be continued here.**

* * *

His hands slide up against my dress, "I got your letter," he says with that patented mischievous grin. His mouth hits my neck before I have the chance to protest, subtle kisses pressed urgently against the side of my throat.

I lose myself in the lust for a moment, in the feeling I know I shouldn't be indulging in. After all, I know all too well what this quaking need could do to a person.

"Stop," I cut him off, pushing his hands off of my thigh and fixing my skirts, "I didn't come here for that."

He withdraws from me immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern as he takes me in.

"I have something to say, I just - don't be angry,"

"Are you taking up with that Hawthorne boy?" he looks up briefly, cursing lightly under his breath. "I _knew_ he a had a thing for you."

I shake my head and take one last breath. "No, it's not that, it's not Gale. I guess I'll just say it, I'm pregnant, Peeta."

* * *

**Three Months Prior**

* * *

The square of our little town is lined with streamers. Every street is swept clean, and there is a whole group gathered by the station with warm bread and tokens of appreciation.

It is a rare day off, a sanction from the mining company that had got even Gale to gather in the heart of our little town. The recent head of the train company had come into town, and as a result every man who worked on the rails or in the mines had the day off.

That's the way things work around these parts. Everything here is about the trains. From the coal mines that filled the earth with a dusty black color, to the name of the town, life revolved around the rail system. Twelve, they called it, after the last train stop on one of the main lines that shipped cargo up to the North.

Most people live and breathe it, honor the train company, Panem Eastern, with the devotion they'd have towards their country. But not me, not Gale. We'd lost everything because of them. My own father had died on the rails, unsafe working conditions patched up with a month's salary to his widow. Since I was eleven I'd had to support my family to make up for what they had taken from me, and things like that weren't easily forgotten.

And now I was being forced by my mother to stand in this square and honor the guy who, indirectly or not, had caused my father's death. Peter Mellark, the recent majority owner, was visiting Twelve on the so called "victory tour." Rumor was he'd just bought out the remaining shares from a partner, some pompous politician called Crane, and had taken to the notion of checking out every one of his stations. We were last, of course.

Here in Twelve we don't get many visitors, much less wealthy men like Mr. Mellark. And so every girl in town, by their own volition or their mama's, had dressed in their Sunday best in a desperate attempt to attract the likes of Mellark as a husband. Why they wanted to marry some fat old man, I don't know. I had worn my everyday dress, an old blue thing in a simple, unflattering style that didn't match up with the tiny waists and bustles that were in style these days. Not that it mattered, of course. There isn't enough money in the world to make me bed, much less marry, some creepy old rich guy.

My thoughts are broken as I hear the crowd tingle with delight, dust rising from the ground as boots shift forward. Murmurs go through the crowd as the train doors finally open, and Peter Mellark emerges. I don't see him, mostly due to the fact that I'm not trying, but as he passes through the crowd to the stage I finally catch a good look.

My eyes widen at the sight of him. Creepy, probably. Rich, certainly. But old? Not exactly. He doesn't look to be more than thirty, maybe even a few years younger. And he's handsome too, as much as it pained me to admit it. With a strong jawline and bright blue eyes, he is more attractive than most of the boys I know, aside from perhaps Gale. But he is probably a dandy, has to be with hair more fixed than any of the merchant boys and not a thread out of place in his suit.

I laugh at that, the thought of all these townspeople gathering for some prissy little yankee boy. Giving Gale a sharp shove, I grab my friend's hand and yank at his arm.

"Come on," I urge him, rolling my eyes at the dirt in disgust, "we've seen _him_ , let's go run some errands while the crowds are gone."

Gale shakes his head with resolve, "Can't," he tells me, his voiced laced thick with resentment, "the foreman said he'd dock any man he saw outside of the square."

"Fine, I guess I'll head out on my own," I shrug, releasing his hand and giving him a sad smile before fighting my way through the crowd.

Gale has to follow the rules now. He has a family he is responsible for, and since Hazelle had fallen ill any lost wages meant no food on the table.

* * *

I decide, upon further thought, to head to the woods before running my errands. It is a good day for game, perfect weather, and besides, with all the newcomers and excitement, there would be a lot of need for meat. I could probably make a tidy little sum, something to put away towards paying back the medicine for Hazelle.

I don't get much done, though. In fact, it's only a couple of squirrels before he stumbled upon me. I hear the crunching long before I know who it is. My first thought at the distant bumbling noise is 'bear,' so before I can get turned into prey I draw my body up and make sure not to move.

But then I hear the voice, unmistakably human.

"You know," it says, "hunting on this land is illegal."

I tense up at that word, _illegal_. I know immediately it must be one of the newcomers, everybody else knows I hunt in these parts. I don't think it will be him, though, because who would expect that?

When I turn around, I gape openly in shock. Peter Mellark, blue eyed and all. He's still wearing that suit, charming grin practically sewed to his face.

But then the fear hits me, because I know what he could do to me for hunting on his land.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer.

He takes me in, his eyes sifting through my appearance, "It's alright, do as you wish. It's my land now."

I squint a little at him. "You shouldn't be wearing clothes like that out here, nor should you be out in these parts without protection. You'll get yourself killed." I intruct matter of factly.

He laughs, hands jollily placed in his pockets, "I guess it's good I have you to protect me."

I scowl at the jump in his voice, "Who says I'll protect you?"

The broad shouldered, blond haired man snorts, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Peeta," he says, "Peeta Mellark."

* * *

**Present**

* * *

He doesn't speak for a long time. Just slumps downward for a minute before speaking.

"It will have to be a fall wedding," he says suddenly. "You are going to have to talk to your mother, I suppose. In these parts, even with my influence, they aren't going to wed me in the church unless she gives me to you. If she doesn't allow it, I guess I will have to take you out of twelve and that will -"

"What are you talking about, Peeta," I flush, my mind swarming with the thought of what he is saying, "We're not going to marry."

His mouth rounds into an 'oh,' and he reaches out apologetically. "I'm sorry, I guess I just assumed...If you don't want it, if you're going to do that, at least let me take you to New York. I know a doctor that can do the procedure. There will still be risks but it's better than whatever potions your mother gives her patients."

Heat rushes through me. I hadn't even thought of that. Well I had, but only for a moment. When I had started this with Peeta I had always assumed that if it ever came down to it, if I ever got myself in this position, I would go to my mother…but now, I just couldn't. Even if I lost everything because of it.

"I'm not -" I say, "I'm going to keep it."

He backs up slightly. "We'll marry then," he asserts. "My child is _not_ going to be a bastard."

I laugh at him. "You say that so concretely, Peeta. As if I'm just going to marry you because you say so. And you're acting like a loon, think about it for a moment. Do you know who you are? You can't wed me, _we both know it_."

"Oh, really?" he narrows his eyes at me. "And what are you going to do, Katniss? Raise my child in this place? Be an unmarried mother, have my kid listed as "misbegotten" in the parish registers? But you're right, I am not going to force you to wed me. And as for me, I can do whatever I damn well please," his voice sharpens as he moves to stand.

He's right. I don't have much of an option, not if he wanted me. I know the way the people in Twelve looked down on unwed mothers, and I didn't need my child growing up as the "reputed" spawn of Peeta Mellark.

But I don't tell him this, instead I just sigh. "I don't want to fight, Peeta."

"Then don't fight with me," he sits down again, his hand reaching out for mine. "I can't give you my family ring, not now, but I can get something made. We can buy a dress off of one of the women in town, go to the church."

"Everyone will know," I say, gathering my skirts and pulling my knees against my chest.

"Everyone will know either way, but if we do this it won't really matter. They'll forget, nobody in Twelve will care much as long as we marry. I will have the papers fixed if it really matters to you, and we can always go to the Capitol as soon as everything is arranged. _How about that?_ "

"What if I don't want to marry you, Peeta," the tears I have been holding back since I found out roll down my cheek. "What if I want to have a shot at another life?"

He sighs. "I think we both fucked up that one, Katniss. Besides, I didn't think you wanted to marry anyway."

I never wanted to marry, he is right about that. I never wanted to fall in love just to watch my husband die, not like my mother had. I didn't want to watch my children grow up in poverty or work in the mines. But it would be different with Peeta, wouldn't it? Our child would have everything, and I didn't love him, so I couldn't really get hurt, not really.

"But what i-if I wanted it sometime down the road?" I can't look at him, so I drop my head into my skirts and let the tears fall freely.

His arms wrap around the side of my body and he pulls me effortlessly against me. I forget sometimes, when he's gentle, how strong he really is.

"Hey," he says with a little laugh, "marrying me won't be that bad."

I snort a little, looking up at the man I didn't even know three months prior. "I didn't mean _that_ , you know. You're not bad to look at, nor are you cruel."

"Well that's a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one," he chuckles.

I can see the sting his eyes even if he brushes it off with wit.  I've bothered him with my comment, so I try to feed his ego a bit in an attempt to repair him. "You're good," I lower my voice, even though we're alone, " _sexually_. I would hate to spend the rest of my life with a man who I don't get along with _in that way._ "

"Oh you don't even know that," he laughs at me. "I'm the only man you have ever been with."

My hand migrates to his leg and I run my fingers against his knee. "I _know_ ," I say with a lowered voice.

"Oh, really?" he asks, a glint in his eye.

"Don't start," I instruct. "Isn't that what got us into this mess in the first place?"

He thinks about it for a moment and then sighs. "I guess you're right. We should at least wait until the wedding, since we didn't do it proper the first round."

It hits me then, that this isn't another silly romp, a stupid decision I was making with a man I barely knew. This had consequences, this was forever. And if I really married him? Then what?

"Up north we'd never have a wedding past noon, but I know they like them later down here.

I look at him, angered by his tone, "How can you discuss this so casually? As if we haven't soiled our lives. We don't even know each other, how are we supposed to stay married?"

He shifts his body backwards, "Because," he says, "I don't mind the thought of you being forever."

* * *

Peeta tries to take my hand as we walk through the square, but I brush him off. Just walking through the town together garners a few looks. I've gotten a lot of those recently, _looks._ Ever since Peeta had danced with me at the Harvest Festival there had been quiet gossip from passing ladies and snickers from girls my age. I had ignored them before, but now? If they thought it scandalous that he danced with me, imagine what they would think when we abruptly married?

It's not that I care what they thought of me, not really. But I have Prim, and she would surely suffer from whatever resulted of this affair.

My heart grows tighter at the thought of my sister, of all the people I know in Twelve. Peeta is a yankee, a city yankee at that. If I become his wife, I will have to leave, spend the rest of my life with his people, in his world, eating his food, and living in his city.

I laugh at the thoughts swirling in my head. Years ago when I was worried about my sister starving to death I would have loved the 'problem' of being attached to a man like Peeta. Even if I die in childbirth or end up despising the man I married, Prim and my mother will be taken care of for life. Besides, it was my foolish involvement with Peeta that had got me here in the first place. I had made my bed, and now I have to face the consequences.

* * *

It's Peeta who suggests telling my mother. I beg him to postpone it for just one day, but he insists on telling her this afternoon. "After all," he says, "we don't exactly have days to waste."

I eventually concede,  but as we stand in front of the door to my family's little two room cabin, I feel my resolve crumbling. The relationship I have with my mother is far from perfect, and she's hardly in a position to judge me, but I know this conversation will be more than uncomfortable for both of us.

My mother's face floods with shock when she sees me standing there with Peeta. One hand on the doorframe, the other on her hip, she gives me a look of bewilderment before pulling herself together.

"Why Mr. Mellark," she says, plastering that false smile on her face, the one she usually reserves for the sheriff. "It's a pleasure to see you, come on in."

Peeta removes his hat and allows me to go through first, shutting the door behind him. I give him a little smile as my mother sits us all down for tea.

"Thank you, Ms. Everdeen," Peeta says as my mother sets his cup down. "Without much ceremony, I believe it is pertinent that I ask you this. Your daughter, Katniss, and I wish to marry. As such, it is with all due respect that I ask for your permission and approval of the match."

My mother just looks at him for a second, her brow furrowing as she stares past me. "You want to marry my daughter...?" her voice becomes shaky. "Oh, Katniss, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"Mama," I say, using a term of endearment I haven't used for years, "I'm pregnant."

* * *

**Let me know what you thought! Special thanks to dandelionlass for the beta!**


	2. Spark

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content. This is not beta-ed, so please keep that in mind before hand. I am continuing this story as part of a piece originally posted during Prompt in Panem's final session.**

* * *

My mother looks Peeta, expressionless, and sighs, "Well then, I suppose it is best that the two of you marry. I would prefer that we keep this from Prim, though. She is young and subjects like this are delicate. I hardly need your little sister thinking that do-," she chokes a little on her tea, "doing what you did leads to prosperity."

That's all? My mother's only thoughts about the altering event in her eldest daughter's life is how it would reflect on her youngest?

"I will do right by her, Ms. Everdeen," Peeta gives her a reassuring smile, "and I will do right by this child."

My mother gently smiles back, "I am sure you will, Mr. Mellark. Tell me, do you intent on bringing my daughter out of Twelve?"

Peeta goes stiff, his eyes widening, "I mea-an," he stutters, "if you think it would be best…"

My mother shakes her head, "I have no issue with the idea, I am simply wondering what you plan to do."

"You don't care if I leave?" I ask, a little incredulous. My relationship with my mother is far from ideal, but she knew that if I left town I would rarely be back.

She purses her lips, "Katniss, the best I could wish for you is to get out of this town. That's what your father wanted for you, and it's not as if I am in any place to convince you of doing otherwise."

I slump a little in my chair. She is right, my father had always wished to get the rest of us out of this place - move to a big city or California and make a life for ourselves. He hadn't gotten the chance, but now, if nothing else, I could provide that opportunity to myself and my child - even if I had to live under Peeta's authority.

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

After Peeta introduces himself, he offers, invites himself rather, on a tour of the woods.

"Who better to show me around these parts than a regular rule breaker like yourself," he says with a cheeky grin.

Everything about him is infuriating. The self assured confidence, the obnoxious good looks, the naturally flirty demeanor. He reads like one of the characters from the romance novels Prim was always borrowing from the rotating library.

"So," he says, taking a long look at me, "you haven't told me your name."

I laugh, "I'm not so sure a  _rule breaker_ like myself ought to." The leaves crunch under my feet, it's getting dark and I really should be heading home. But seeing as Mellark knew me to be a hunter, it was best to patronize him. The last thing I needed was to anger a man of his station, even if he seemed harmless I knew what he could do to me.

"Ah yes, have to retain a certain air of mystery. That is what all the good marital advice says, after all," he laughs, springing forward before turning back to face me.

I snort, "Marital advice? Well that's hardly relevant, as you certainly are not my husband. Though any woman in that square would love to take you as their own."

"Then who is your husband, do tell," he raises an eyebrow, "if you have one."

I stare at him. My mother had always told me that nothing good ever came of a strange man asking if you were unwed. Unmarried women are up to be taken, she said.

"My husband's name is Hawthorne," I lie thickly.

"Ms. Hawthorne, then," he ponders, absentmindedly kicking the dirt under his feet, "does your husband know how you choose to spend your afternoons?"

I look up at the sky, ignoring his question. It's getting cloudy out there, just two days ago there was a storm brewing but it had passed. The sky look "I think it is going to rain, we really should head back."

"If you insist, Ms. Hawthorne," he sighs, staring at the raindrop that lands directly on his nose, "I suppose I have a meeting as well-"

At that the sky cracks in a fit of lighting and the heavens break open, large raindrops pour over the earth

We had wandered too far off to make it back in these conditions, I had let this man distract me when I knew it wasn't right to go this far out when it might rain.

"Sorry," he spits through the water, his hair slicking against his face.

I roll my eyes and grab at his hand, "Come on," I say, "there are some cabins not too far away, we'll wait it out there."

He practically glints, "I knew you'd protect me."

* * *

**_Present_ **

* * *

"It went well," Peeta says, hand on my knee as we sit on the stoop. My mother is tucked away in her bedroom, she claimed to have a headache but I knew better.

"I guess," I look at him, "she cares about my honor a whole lot less than most mothers. Although, I don't think many women in this town would cry over their daughters marrying you."

He rubs his fingers against his temples, "Did I ever tell you that one of the merchant girl's mothers offered me her daughter's virtue?"

I look at him, "Did you accept?"

"Yes," he rolls his eyes, "I took the virginity of some poor girl at the offer of her mother. Goodness, Katniss. Who do you think I am?"

"Who do I think you are?" I take him in for a moment, take a good look at the blue eyes that reeled me into this mess, "Peeta, I barely know you."

"Don't say that," he shakes his head, "we aren't strangers, greater love stories have formed in shorter amounts of time," his hand presses firmer against my leg, "Romeo and Juliet, all the classic stories."

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet. That worked out real well."

What does he think? That we are going to fall in love and live happily ever after. Peeta is a romantic, a hopeless flirt and an all around sappy man, but he isn't naive...nor is he foolish. He is right, we aren't strangers, and what he knows about me should be enough to determine that our marriage was not going to be a thing of dreams.

"You know what I meant," he says, "I am hardly professing that we are Romeo and Juliet, I'm afraid our tale is far more common, but I just don't want you to think that I'm going to whore around on you."

"I wouldn't care, you know, if you kept a mistress. A lot of men in your station do," I shrug noncommittally, "So long as you don't bring any diseases home, that is."

He looks at me as if I stabbed him, "Katniss," he says, "don't tell me you wouldn't care, I know how you get about the other girls in town. You honestly expect me to believe that you would be perfectly fine about me whoring it up with others when we're  _married_? Quite frankly Katniss, I don't believe you."

I turn up my nose, blushing, "I never cared if you slept with other girls."

"Oh that's a lie," he laughs, "you are a terribly jealous person."

"Me?" I cry, throwing my skirts to side and standing up, "as if you didn't look like you were about to blow off Gale's head every time you spoke to him."

"Well then I guess it's settled," he says, urging me to sit back down, "we are both terribly jealous people. Though I never minded the fooling around we did after those episodes."

I heat up as I remember what he had done to me after our last argument about Gale. The way he had curled his...

"Peeta," I hiss, my thoughts breaking as a miner passes by, his eyes drifting towards the unlikely couple on the front steps, "you can't say those things in public."

"You're already with my child," he grins, "you and me, we're rife with scandal. Nobody will care about a little inappropriate banter when we have our shotgun wedding and run off."

"About that," I say, rolling my tongue over my teeth, "I was thinking…my sister is getting older. I can't take her from my mother just now, but when the baby is - when she's older, perhaps I could bring her into our home, take her out of Twelve?"

"Of course," he says, "you hardly need to ask me that. Prim is family, and she deserves a proper education and the opportunities that will come when we marry."

"When we marry…" I look down, drifting off into the thought.

"Are you still scared?" he asks me, "about this, about us? You'll love me one day," he says hoarsely, "one day, even if it is just like family. We're going to spend our lives together, Katniss...and one day you will care about me,  _just like I care about you._ "

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

"So," Peeta says, throwing his wet jacket and vest onto the creaky wooden floor of the cabin, "how long do you think the storm will last?"

I shrug, trying once again to light the fire, "I don't know Peeta," I let out a frustrated sigh, "do I look like god to you?"

The cabin isn't perfect, a little leaky and at least fifty years old, but it's better than nothing. There is even a small bed in the corner, the ropes need to be tightened but the mattress is decent and there are some threadbare blankets in one of the cabinets.

He doesn't answer, just fiddles with the wet cuff of his sleeve. 

"Aha!" I say, as the wood busts into a decent fire, "finally."

Peeta smiles, welcoming the heat, "You are very resourceful, you know. I guess we're stuck here for a while," he tugs at the buttons of his shirt, "I think I have a pack of playing cards in my jacket, that's something at least."

"What are you doing?" I ask him, my eyes drawing themselves to the open bits of skin.

"My shirt is wet," he looks at me, "I'm going to dry it by the fire. You ought to take your outer dress as well."

I sigh. He is right, we were soaked and hardly going to dry up in this cabin. No point in risking illness for the sake of contrived modesty.

Peeta takes my silence as a form of compliance, and once again his hands draw to his shirt, which he removes swiftly, tossing is beside the fire.

"Here," I say, not quite looking at his bare chest, "I need you to undo my buttons."

"Help you with your dress?" he chokes out, "Are you sure?"

I roll my eyes at his sudden withdrawal, "Come on," I say, "the buttons are in the back."

He rolls closer to me on the floor, his hands shaky as he undoes the row of buttons along my back. "There you go," he says hoarsely.

Standing up, I slip my heaviest petticoat to the floor as well. After all, it was the largest part of my attire and quite frankly, a total nuisance I had only worn because of the event in the town square.

"Now," I say, "where are these cards of yours?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Proper warning, this is not beta-ed. If you see any mistakes, feel free to let me know. What do you think about where this story is heading? How do you like the flashbacks and the way that is formatted - is it confusing? Let me know in the comments below!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and everlarkfanfictionprompts. Thanks for your continued support of my fics, I have been playing around with this story for some time and I'm really glad to see it in motion!**


	3. Heat

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but original content. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

Peeta shuffles the cards once more, dealing out the remainder amongst the two of us. Half naked and mostly wet, we sit on the worn wooden floor.

"So," Peeta says, shifting a little as he sifts through his own hand, "tell me about your husband."

I bite my lip, somewhat hesitant to continue the lie. "He's...him. What do you wish to know?"

He shrugs, throwing down a jack, "Does he work for me, for starters?"

I laugh. "Everybody in this town works for you, in one way or another, at least."

"What an evasive response." Peeta gives me a look of mock horror. "Do tell Ms. Hawthorne, what are you hiding?"

"Do you call all the married women you know Miss, or is that pleasure reserved for me?"

"Fine." he rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Mrs. Hawthorne, where is your husband employed?"

With no other options, I tell him about the real Mr. Hawthorne, the boy who is most certainly not my husband.

"Gale works in the mines." I stare at the man that I barely even know, but who is responsible for so much of life in Twelve. "Twelve hour shifts, six days a week."

Peeta's expression tightens, "Oh," he says. It's the first serious thing he has said since he met me. "You don't see much of him, then."

"I used to see more of him," I shrug, "now he mostly works."

"Gale, hun?" Peeta says, diverting the topic of conversation. "Big, mighty gust of wind. Tell me, is he tall?"

I roll my eyes at that, "Yes, Peeta, he's tall, always has been. What is it to you?"

Outside, the wind howls and the little cabin rocks ever so slightly under the power of the storm. It is going to be a long night, I would be surprised if it was any better in the morning.

Peeta grimaces, at the sounds outside or the thought of Gale, I don't know. "I just want to know what's coming for me when your husband founds out I spent the night, alone, with his  _beautiful_ wife?"

"Don't you fret, Mr. Mellark," I raise my voice mockingly to match his yankee accent. "I'll protect you from the big, bad wolf."

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

"I do care about you, Peeta," I sigh a little. "I'm not that cold."

He shakes his head, "I never meant to suggest that, Katniss. I just, I know it must be terrifying for you. I will only gain through what has happened, but you - you'll have to leave everything you know. On top of dealing with this pregnancy, if I were in your place..."

I shake my head. The last thing I want right now is to talk about this with him. It is overwhelming enough to live through it, no need to senselessly extrapolate on how I'm feeling.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I tell him, "Please, Peeta. Can we just…"

Peeta gives me the smallest smile, "Of course," he says, rubbing circles against the back of my head, "whatever you want. We'll go to my train car, then I need to give you something."

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

After playing a few rounds of cards, I decide to turn in for the night. I hadn't gotten much sleep the previous evening, and the next morning would be a hassle.

"I'm going to bed," I tell Peeta, neatly piling my share of cards up and handing them back to him, "the storm isn't going to change, might as well."

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night as well," he says. "I'll take the floor, mind handing me one of those blankets?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "We both need sleep to make the hike back, just share the bed with me." For such a natural flirt, he at least has some decency about him.

"What would your husband say?" He raises an eyebrow, "It isn't right, Mrs. Hawthorne. You're a married woman, after all. Though, I'm not sure it would be much better if you weren't married."

I roll my eyes, this husband thing is becoming more trouble than I expected. "Just come to bed," I say, "stop being a baby."

"Can you move a little closer," I whisper into the pillow, "you're making the bed sink."

We had pulled the bed's ropes tighter earlier, but even with freshly tightened ropes the bed isn't much. The mattress is far too thin and I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of the ropes snapped before the morning came.

"That depends," Peeta laughs, "how big is that husband of yours again?"

"Hush," I say as he rolls closer to the center of the bed, closer to me, "just do it."

He groans, turning over and moving towards me on the bed.

For a moment we just lie there, the sound of rain pouring against the cabin, our bodies wrapped together, the thin mattress leaning inward the longer we lie there.

Then, after we have been lying there for maybe an hour, Peeta turns over, folding his hands on his chest. "Do you ever wonder what your life would be like, if you hadn't met than one person, if that one thing hadn't happened to you?"

 _Yes_ , I think. I used to wonder it all the time, who I would be today if my father had never died, if I hadn't been forced to grow up so early. But, I'm in no mood for late night ponderings - not with a man I hardly know, at least.

I can just barely see the outline of his face through the light cast by the booming storm outside of our little cabin.

"Go back to sleep," I say, my hand sliding against his, pulling him back towards me on the creaking bed. It's then that I notice him pressing up against my backside.

"Sorry," he mutters into my ear, a wordless understanding passing between us.

"It's fine," I say, blushing. "I don't -" And in some moment of curiosity, of lust, a moment that changes everything - I draw my hand against the curve of his body. My fingers brush against the edge of his shirt, just barely pushing against the waistband of his pants.

His breath is unsteady, I can feel it - just barely against my lips. "We shouldn't," his voice is hollow, raspy, "You -"

I shake my head, hoping he understands. "No," I say, running my fingers against the side of his face, "please."

Whatever we do together, it would never mean anything to him. He would never tell, not like any of the boys in town would, and he would never have the chance to hold it against me. With Peeta, there is no risk. I have been holding back my entire life, but right here, right now, I can do what I wish with no consequences.

With that, whatever he has been holding back is released. His hands, very skilled from what must be years of experience with forgettable women, wrap around the sides of my body, his fingers prying against the ties of my corset.

And just as quickly, his lips are there too, soft and warm and needing. It's not my first kiss, but it's my first kiss that's been like  _this._

Everything about him is so desperately warm, so-

"Stop!" he says suddenly, pushing my hands away from him.

I look up at him in the barely there light. "Did I do something wrong?" I ask, voice unsteady.

Peeta shakes his head, "No, I'm sorry," he says for the second time this night. "I never should have," his lips pause against mine, and he pulls the covers to turn over in the bed, "go to sleep."

* * *

The morning comes soon enough. As we sleep, the storm must part. It's still wet, muddy and altogether unpleasant outside. But the sun is finally out, and the wind has died down to bearable conditions. We

Peeta barely looks at me the whole morning. The air between us is awkward, a hidden memory of last night's quick encounter lingering between us.  _What was I even thinking last night? Doing that with him?_

I have no place in Peeta Mellark's world or bed, and the day's light makes this evident.

"Look," Peeta starts as I sit up against the bed, tying my shoelaces, "about last night-"

I'm saved from responding by a knock. We both freeze and I imagine neither of us want to deal with the implications of our night's stay, me more so than Peeta.

It's a man pounding against the door, that much is obvious as he shouts, "Hello?"

The voice is muffled but there is an obvious drawl to it that lets me know he isn't one of Peeta's men.  _Oh lord_ , I think,  _how will I explain this one?_

Peeta looks at me, a questioning, slightly panicked look on his face. Silent eyes ask me, 'Should we answer?'

But we don't get the chance. With no response, the man barrels through the door, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene before him. Me in my underclothes, Peeta buttoning up his shirt.

It's barely a second before he's throwing Peeta against the wall, angry hands slamming into the blonde boy's jaw.

_Gale._

* * *

**_Present_ **

* * *

I stare hesitantly at the crowd surrounding the station. We had never been here before together, not in the light of day, at least.

I worry for a moment what the people here will think. Out of the corner of my eye I spot one of the merchant girls looking at me, her eyes lingering on Peeta and I's closeness. Then I remember, as Peeta pointed out previously, I was already with his child, about to run off with him. People would know soon enough anyways.

So I cross the train yard with little thought to the people surrounding me, follow Peeta through the crowd as if there is nothing wrong with what we are doing. As if it is perfectly normal for a man of his station to accompany me, alone, to his car.

Once we are at his train car, Peeta pulls the set of silver keys from his pocket. "Go ahead," he says, his hands reaching out to aid me up the four small stairs.

I stare blankly at him, "Peeta, just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm useless. Not yet, at least."

"Of course," he says, running a hand through his hair as I step through.

Peeta's private car is magnificent, a true showing of his station. The interior doors and trims are mahogany, everything about the place is a splendor of wealth. Even the ceiling is beautifully carved, covered in an array of mosaics. The train car is large, there's a small dining station with an ornate table that sits four, a lounge area covered in heavy green velvet furnishings, and past a divisor, beyond what can be seen, I know there is a bed more comfortable than any other I have slept in.

A pang hits me as I scan the room, as I think of all of the luxury, the life that will one day be not only mine, but our child's.  _This is going to be mine one day._

"So," I say, one hand on my hip, "what did you want to show me, again?"

Peeta smiles as he shuts the door behind him. "Give me a second," he says, pulling a little floral box from underneath one of the cabinets near the entrance.

From the red and blue floral box he produces a small, simple wooden box with a gold clasp. "Open it," he says, passing the thing to me.

I stare at the object in my hand. Popping the lid and revealing the smooth black velvet lining, I take notice of the simple gold ring that stands out against the dark fabric, of the little white thing set in it.

"The pearl," I gasp, thinking fondly back to the memory of when I had first spotted it, "when did you have this made?"

"I told you I couldn't get you my family ring just yet, but this, this ring can be ours." His face shines bright as he looks at me, like this ring has given him more pleasure than it has me.

"Oh Peeta," I say, smiling up at him, "this is -"

He shakes his head and wraps his hands around my body. His fingers enclose themselves around my back and as he leans the entirety of him against the nailed down settee behind us, he asks me one question: "Katniss Everdeen," he breathes, "marry me."

* * *

**_Three Months Prior_ **

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" Peeta spits, saliva mixed with blood dripping from his mouth. His arms are tense, ready to push back against the boy I have known all my life.

"I'm Gale Hawthorne, who the fuck do  _you_ think  _you_ are?"

As soon as the words leave Gale's mouth, Peeta falls slack. His eyes go towards mine, a desperate look of something like hurt and pleading mixed into one.

"Oh god," he says, raising his hands apologetically. "We didn't - I swear to you." His head turns briefly towards me, "I never touched your  _wife_."

* * *

**Author's Note: They don't actually have sex while stuck together, alone and half naked, in a cabin sharing a bed? I know, I'm shocked too!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and everlarkfanfictionprompts. Special thanks to dandelionlass for resuming her position as beta and making this chapter readable!**


	4. Flame

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but original content. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

Gale's grip loosens on Peeta, his eyes widening in surprise at the word.

 _Wife?_  He gives me a little look as if to question the very concept. It is hardly uncommon for the town folk to make little jokes about me being Gale's wife. Hell, even our mothers expected us to wed eventually. But there is no joke, no teasing, in Peeta's voice - and he certainly isn't one of us.

I shake my head a little, a silent plea for him not to question Peeta's words.

From years of hunting, Gale knows me, knows what I'm saying, and more importantly, trusts me enough to go along with it.

I'm relieved when, without even mentioning the subject, he gives one final shove at Peeta before retrieving my dress from the floor and tossing it at me.

"Put your dress on," he hisses. "I'm taking you home."

"I swear to god," Gale says, one hand tightly gripped on me and the other pointing angrily towards Peeta. "If I find out that you offended her even in the slightest, it won't matter who you are…"

* * *

We walk back mostly in silence, trudging through the mountain terrain with barely a word. Gale walks at least ten paces ahead of me, his body tense with that fire I have only seen a handful of times.

Gale pauses as we reach the edge of town, stopping until I catch up with him. His grey eyes look down at mine, "You know," he says, "if he did anything to you...you can tell me."

I peer past Gale's questioning stare, my eyes focusing on the span of evergreens and the shadows of the mountains. My feet trample through a patch of violets, brown leather boots breaking the fresh purple petals.

"Peeta didn't do anything," I say. "You can relax."

"We practically organized a search party," he laughs, hands in the pocket of his jacket. "When you didn't come home, Prim worried you were dead with the storm. But I knew," he looks back at me. "I knew you would be fine."

"And I was," I tell him. "Nothing happened."

He shrugs, "When I found you like that, with  _that_ man. I swear, I thought something had happened, that he had touched you or hurt you or… I don't know what I would have done.  _You told him you were my wife_ , Katniss. Why would you do that if he didn't make you uncomfortable?"

"I didn't know him," I bite my lip, "I thought it safe."

"But you chose me," he says, and it isn't a question.

"It was just that I thought of you," I tell him, "you're the only man I really know."

A flock of bird passes overhead. "Of course," Gale readjusts his grey wool cap, "Come on, we'll hurry back, this way your sister doesn't fret all too much."

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

I laugh against the warmth of his body's enclosure, "I already agreed to marry you."

"Yes," one of his hands drops to mine, "haphazardly after announcing you were pregnant. I don't exactly want to recall that moment to our children. I want to do right by you. So I'm asking you properly, Katniss. Be my wife, marry me."

I bite my lip. It was just like Peeta to do this, attempt to alleviate the harsh reality of our marriage, which was borne out of nothing more than foolish lust and simple convenience.

"Okay," I tell him, because what else am I going to say?

"Okay," he says, jokingly, peering out at me. "I ask you to marry me and all I get is an 'okay'."

"Fine," I say, giving him the slightest of kisses. "Yes Peeta, I'll marry you. Even if the question is redundant and I'm not sure this is all that much of a better story to tell the baby."

Peeta sighs against me, his fingers gripping the little jewelry box and slipping the cool metal of the ring onto my finger.

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

The next couple of days pass uneventfully. Gale spends his time in the woods, Prim goes to school, my mother gets called out for a birthing. For the most part, I'm alone during the day, and I opt to spend that time hidden in the woods, making good of the season's plentiful game.

I don't see Peeta again, not until two days later when I'm sorting through my game bag in that same corner of the woods where we first met.

"So, Katniss, is it?"

I jump at the voice, turning around to find none other than Peeta Mellark behind me. I bring my hand against my forehead, "How do you know my name?"

"I asked around," he says, leaning against a tree not five paces from me.

I blink, "Asked around about what?"

"You."

My heart quickens. What business does Peeta Mellark of all people have asking about me?  _What on earth was he saying to others?_

"You didn't tell anybody," I freeze, "about last night?"

He shakes his head, "I would never…"

"I know you and Gale aren't married, at least, nobody seems to know about it," his blue eyes narrow at me. "And I get the feeling everybody knows everybody's business in a place like this. So tell me, why did you say you were married? Was it...some kind of scam? A way to trick me into gaining affections?"

I snort, "Are you always this full of yourself. You found me in those woods, remember? And for heaven's sake, I don't control the weather."

"So, if you aren't legally wed, what is it? Are you sweethearts, secretly betrothed, perhaps?" His voice is almost mocking, "I'd say it was sweet if I didn't know you were touching other men in the dead of night."

His words slap at me. "I don't touch strange men," I fire back, suppressing the urge to flat out strike him.

"I feel as if the way you wanted me last night is evidence to the contrary," he bites back matter of factly.

I groan, "Don't bring that up, for all I remember it never happened."

I knew the moment I laid eyes on Peeta Mellark that nothing good would ever come from his presence. And I had allowed myself, in a moment of weakness, to know the feel of his body and the taste of his mouth.

The heat of his breath tingles against my skin as he leans closer to me, "Tell me then, does he not touch you? Need you? Want you?"

I draw in a sharp breath at the intimacy of his words, and quickly pull back against the log. The fabric of my dress catches against the bark, but I can't find it in me to worry about the tear that is most likely forming.

"Gale and I aren't involved," I manage to gasp out. "You shouldn't...talk about him that way."

"Oh really," he says, blue eyes lighting on fire. "Mr. Hawthorne certainly seemed to think otherwise."

I bite the inside of my cheek as Peeta's hand glides against my ankle, "So who is Gale to you then."

Peeta's hands move across my legs like there is nothing abnormal about the way he is touching me. His fingers pushing even up to the start of my thighs.

"There's a little tiny rip right here," he says drawing circles against the hint of bare skin, "might want to patch that up."

"Gale's like a brother," I choke out, "overprotective."

"Hmm," he hums lightly, his knee catching the underside of my leg. "Then why'd you lie? If you and he are nothing more than siblings?"

"As you said, you were just some  _strange man_ ," I shrug. "It felt wise at the time."

"So," he squints a little under the sun's bright light, "you're not married, or betrothed, or any way beholden to any man?"

I shake my head.

"Well then," he says, his fingers gliding against the front buttons of my dress, "nobody will hold is against me when I do this."

With that the entirety of his body leans into my side of the log. One hand catches my head, cradling my skull from the roughness of the bark.

He doesn't kiss me, doesn't touch his lips to mine like I expect, just looks at me, his face lingering inches from my own.

"Well?" I ask as we lie there in some kind of purgatorial hell.

"Well, what?" he grins, his knowing eyes peering over me.  _He wants me to beg,_  I think,  _beg for him to kiss me._

"Ask me," his hand slides lower against my dress. "Tell me what you want."

But I don't tell him, I just pull his hand out from underneath my head and push my body towards his. And instantly his lips are there just as they were the other night. And sooner still, his fingers are pushing up my skirts, his eyes alight with that same hint of fire.

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

The streets are unusually crowded in the merchant's section of town. Children play in the streets, their worn collars turning upward as the wind breezes through the square. I notice that even dark haired residents from my part of town, still dusty miners and their child weary wives, are bustling through the handful of shops that line the train station. With the business Peeta had brought to town, and the upcoming holidays, even Seam folk were out purchasing wears.

I wonder, as Peeta's hand wraps around mine, what I would be doing right now if we had never come across each other that day in the woods. Would Gale and I be going door to door at the shops, thankful for the jump in income? Would Peeta and I have ever spoken, if not for that night? Or, would he have never noticed me, taken up with a pretty town girl and never looked at me twice?

As we pass through the crowds, people part around us, each head taking note of my closeness with Peeta. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar tug of dark hair zig-zagging through the crowds.

"Katniss," Gale stops at the edge of the gathering crowd, his eyes flitting to Peeta, then to the hand wrapped around mine.

Instinctively, I release the fingers I have entwined with Peeta. He glances downwards, his hand tightening against his side as he looks between Gale and I.

I don't even think about the ring on my finger until Gale drops his satchel to the ground.

"Katniss," his voice is hoarse, "what did he do to you?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Let me know what you thought and have a lovely holiday!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and everlarkfanfictionprompts. Special thanks to dandelionlass for resuming her position as beta and making this chapter readable!**


	5. Fire

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and concepts. Thanks, as always, to my lovely beta dandelionlass! Make sure to check her out on tumblr!**

* * *

**_**Present** _ **

* * *

Peeta's voice is firm as he speaks, "Gale, Katniss and I are to be wed."

The entire square lights up with murmurs. I can practically feel the heat of the crowd around me, the anger radiating from the girls and mothers who wished they were in my spot. My eyes shoot towards Peeta, and I narrow at him, pulling a little farther away.

But Peeta won't have that. His hand, the same hand that has touched me, felt me, in private, rests on my back. I can feel the enwrapping weight of it, the public declaration of our relationship, bearing down on me.

_This man will soon enough be my husband. I will be his - always._

Gale aligns, shifting his satchel to the other arm. "No," he shakes his head, "when, why?"

Peeta's body pulls tighter against mine. "Perhaps we can go back to my lodging, discuss this matter in the comfort of privacy," he says, motioning towards the gathering crowd.

Gale shakes his head, eyes flitting downward, "I have to go to work."

Peeta's forehead wrinkles, "I can speak to your foreman-"

I interrupt Peeta, unwrapping myself from his body. The offer, while perhaps generous, would only piss Gale off.

"Just come," I say, grabbing on to the edge of Gale's sleeve, "and don't make a scene here, you don't want that."

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

Suddenly the entirety of him seems to touch me. His hands are there, sliding up my legs, pulling at my undergarments with a need that I can't explain.

His arms encompass my body, his lips never leaving mine as I wrap around him, nearly weightless, and tumble to the dewy grass below. He lies on top of me, elbows propping himself up, as we kiss and touch, his fingers running against the tops of my breast, grazing the edges of my body.

We're incandescent with need, and in the moment it doesn't feel like I'm even me. I don't think of his position or where I might end up, I just think about the feeling of it all, the pleasure that courses through me as we roll around together. It has been a long time since I have felt this free.

And then his hand grazes under my skirts, his fingers touching me at my core, slipping into my body. A ripple of shock and pleasure courses through me, an audible gasp emerging. I'm not ignorant, I've heard of this, from babbling girls at the marketplace, and from the boys in the sidelines at school, but I didn't expected for him to...do that, didn't expect for him to feel me in that way - but I can't say the touches are unwelcome.

"Do you," Peeta pauses for a moment, leaving the need in me into rise, "do you wish for me to stop? I won't..."

I shake my head and wrap one of my legs around his, pulling him downwards towards me. We both collapse against the ground in a sea of loose clothing and touches. My hair, now loose, fans down into the grass as he lies there with me, drawing me into his body.

And then he stops, heated breath against my neck as he pulls me closer into him. "Do you want…?" he questions, head rested against my shoulder.

I don't know what to say, but I don't want it to stop, so I answer by pulling at the buttons of his pants and slipping my fingers underneath. I have never felt a man before, but I'm glad for the closeness of our bodies, glad that I'm not forced to look him in the eyes, or worse, look at _it_. Despite our actions, the thought is unbearably uncomfortable.

Peeta groans as I touch him loosely through the opening in his pants. His hands clamp over mine, guiding me lightly. "Can I?" he asks, pushing my body upward. It's barely a question, and I can't even see his face, but I know what it means, know what he's asking of me.

"Okay."

With that he leans into me, slipping himself inside of me with little warning. It hurts at first, he's bigger than I expect him to be - but the pain's duller than I'd imagined, fiery and filling and conjoined with an aching pleasure. But there's still pain, even if it is lessened, and I cry out as he first enters, the strangeness of it all coursing through me.

He stops for a moment, his hands drag my body upward, pulling me closer to him. I see then, as he forces me to look at him, that his body is coated in the same fevered sweat as mine.

His hand moves upward from my waist to brush a stray strand of hair away as he stills inside of me, "Do you want to stop? Are you...sure?"

My eyes screw shut, unable to look at him. It's too intimate to stare at him while his _thing_ is inside of me.

"No," I tell him, leaning back. It's already done, the deed has passed among us, what need is there to stop the pleasure?

"Okay," he says, almost dumbly as he pushes me back into the grass, our bodies finding a rhythm, the pain subsiding into a needy ache.

"Oh Katniss," he cries, as he digs further into me, his body nearing what I can imagine must only be his release, "I'm going to-"

He pulls out of me quickly, the fullness subsiding as he spills beside me on the ground. And then, as quickly as it came, the moment is over. The thought of what I've done floods my mind as he rolls over beside me, a grin on his face.

"You never.." he trails off, placing a kiss on my bare shoulder,"do you want me to...with my mouth?"

I shake my head, pushing away all thoughts of his heated tongue on me, the wonder if it would feel better than his fingers. "No," I say, as I attempt to fasten the back of my dress, "I should go."

"Go?" he raises an eyebrow, rolling his body over mine and pinning me down with a lackadaisical kiss, "but you didn't even finish."

"Maybe I did?" I say to him as I stare up at the grey blankness of the sky, desperate to focus on anything but this.

He laughs, his fingers running through my hair, "I think you'd know. So," he cocks his head, "you have never felt that release before? Come on, never by yourself or with the _others_ …"

I shrug, squirming free of his touch. "I've never done this before," I tell him plainly, gathering my things.

He snaps up at that. "Wait," he pauses, "that was your first time? That's why you..."

His eyes crinkle at me, the confusion evident on his face. Wordlessly, I pull my undergarments off the ground and fasten the lasts bits of my dress. It's one of my newer ones, a blue and red calico that my mother had saved up for last year. Prim and I had matching ones, it'd been cheaper to buy the fabric in bulk.

"Yeah, so?" I sniff a little, turning away from Peeta. Now that the shadow of lust has fallen, I can see what I've done clear as day. What was it about this man that brought me here, allowed him to touch me and feel me and _take_ from me _?_

"Well," he says matter of factly, "if I had known I certainly wouldn't have bedded you in the forest."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter," I tell him, even though it does. I never intended on marrying, until now there had never been a moment where I had allowed myself to fall into it with a man. And the fact that Peeta assumed I had been with countless others grated at me.

"My dress," I bite the inside of my cheek, unable to look at him, "it's torn."

Peeta pulls on his jacket. "I'll buy you a new one," he says with a wave of his hand, "it's just a dress."

I don't reply to that, don't let him know that I'd never accept anything from him, much less a dress - not when it might be construed as some kind of _payment_.

"Why would you think," I pause, my voice shaking, "that this wasn't my first…"

I already know the answer, but I have to ask anyway.

Peeta slides beside me on the ground. "Well, you did-" he starts.

I don't let him finish, I can't hear it. Can't allow myself to sit half naked beside him and listen to him recount what I have done, what I had allowed myself to do.

"I have to get back in time for supper," I say, pushing up off the ground, the top button of my dress still unfastened as my hair tangles wildly through the woods.

He calls after me. I hear him screaming my name as I pick my skirts up, but I don't - can't - stop.

_Peeta Mellark had ruined me, like a storm I'd run straight into - and I had let him, liked it, even._

* * *

I manage to avoid Peeta for an entire week. I don't tell a soul what I did with him into those woods, not my mother or Gale or my friend Madge, the mayor's daughter. I can't bear my mother's disappointment, nor Gale's rage, and it feels too awkward to tell Madge, who despite being my only female friend, I don't know all too well. Besides, I'd much prefer to keep it to myself and forget about the whole thing, just as Peeta seems to forget about me.

It isn't until the Harvest Festival that I see him again. The whole square is decked out in a way I have never before witnessed, most likely for Peeta's benefit. The main court is lined with strings of berries and leaves, wooden tables set up on the sidelines. They even manage to spare candles for the place, lights that flood through the evening's dimness as the crowd laughs and dances, one of the older men at the fiddle.

Aside from a couple of dances with my sister and Gale, I stay at my mother's side for most of the night, idly listening to some of the other women gossip. We don't have enough money to spare for any of the treats being sold, but the gaiety of the event is entertaining enough, a nice break from the monotony that will come with winter.

And then, as I'm sitting one one of the split-log benches between two girls my age, my mother a handful of feet away, I spot Peeta sitting at a table on the far end of the stretch. I must linger on him for too long, must stare at those blue eyes for more than I intend, because he catches me looking at him and calls out to me.

"Katniss," Peeta waves at me from across the square, a bright shining smile beaming across his face. I'm too absorbed in my thoughts to notice it at first, and one of the girls, Leevy, I think, has to tap on my shoulder. "Psst…" she says, wide eyed, "Peeta Mellark is calling for you."

I stand up, anxious to dart away, maybe to the woods or to find Gale, but my mother has already noticed - confusion passing through her face as she hears Peeta Mellark calling out to me. Running will only make the rumors worse.

So with nothing more than a sigh, I trudge over to Peeta's table. "What?" I say to him, arms crossed.

"Hey," he smiles, setting his drink on the table and reaching to stand, "Would you like to dance? I can't say I know any of these, but I'm sure you can teach me."

His hair isn't slicked back today, it's loose and falls over the sides of his head like a boy's. His suit isn't as fine as the others, either, a fine brown thing by Twelve's standards, but one of his lesser outfits. It rubs me the wrong way, even I find it attractive, even if he looks more _real_ , that he doesn't think our events worthy of good dress.

"I shouldn't," I tell him, shaking my head, "and can you be any louder?"

He bites his lip, "Are you still...cross with me? I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to speak with you, I have been holed up in my office all week. You know how it is, busy, busy," His eyes brighten as he pushes a little white pastry box in my direction, "Here, have a slice of cake. It's divine."

I shove the box back to him. "Why are you talking to me," I hiss.

The locks of his hair fall as he turns his head, "Is there a problem with that?"

"Yes," I lean further into the table, "in public, no less!"

Peeta's forehead wrinkles, "I mean, we - I thought, if you let me do that, talking to you in public would be at least acceptable."

I flush, heated in anger and the thoughts of what had gone on between us, "Just because I let you... doesn't give you any right to me, Peeta." I take a sip of his drink, "From now on, stay out of my life."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well that's that, what did you think of their encounter? How do you think Peeta will respond to Katniss's request? This episode is pretty flashback heavy, hoping nobody minds all too much!**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub! I post updates and inspiration for all of my stories over there!**

**TLDR: Don't use the pull out method, kids!**


	6. Blaze

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and characterization. Heads up to my lovely Beta for helping out with this chapter and getting it up quickly.**

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

**I flush, heated in anger, and the thoughts of what had gone on between us. "Just because I let you... doesn't give you any right to me, Peeta." I take a sip of his drink. "From now on, stay out of my life."**

"Katniss," he yells out very loudly from behind me. I am certain people are staring at us, I know it, but I continue on, pushing past the crowds of people and stumbling down the town square.

And then I notice, halfway to the apothecary, that he's still following me. "Do you make a habit of this," I turn around, hands crossed over my chest and walking backwards, "of following young girls around alone. That's the type of thing that gets a man run out of town."

He grins at me, as if we aren't in this situation, as if I am not doing everything in my power to avoid him. "

It's not something I have made a habit of, no. It's just that you have a tendency to run, and well, I follow."

I pause, pulling my coat tighter to my body. "Something about you makes me want to flee. Chalk it up to intuition."

He laughs, pausing to take a glance at his pocket watch. "Flee? I certainly didn't get that sense in the cabin...or the woods."

We stand there in the middle of the town square, him ten paces away from me and me leaning against the side of the bakery. "Well that was a mistake. A moment's lapse of judgement, you can say."

His voice raises high in mockery. "I don't think it was a lapse of judgement so much as lust. Lust is a powerful thing, my dear."

I scowl. "Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" He asks with the raise of an eyebrow, as if to challenge me.

"My dear," I reply, even though he knows exactly what I meant.

"I feel like I have earned that honor, but I will concede if you agree to move this conversation to somewhere a bit more private. My railcar is right down there," he says, nodding to the station not thirty paces away.

"Earned that honor?" I scoff. "Tell me exactly how you have _earned_ anything from me?"

He strolls closer to me and leans down against the brick wall. "You're right," he whispers into my ear, his hands sliding around the sides of my dress. "I didn't even make you finish. But this time, if you give me the chance, I _swear_ it will be no mistake."

I shove him off of me, flushing red. "You're disgusting."

"I'm sorry, you obviously don't want to discuss the fact that I have been between your thighs."

"You think I'm a whore," I say matter of factly. "Th-that's why you -" I slump down against the building, my dress muddying in a puddle below me. I tuck my head into my dress as the tears fall down against my cheeks. I can't even be bothered to be embarrassed by Peeta's presence.

"Oh," he says awkwardly sitting beside me. "I don't - don't cry, please. I meant what I said in jest, not in malice."

"Maybe I am one," I cry. "A whore, that is."

"Come on," he says, wrapping his arms cautiously around me. "I don't think you want anybody to see us. Here, I will take you back to my railcar and fix you a drink."

I shake my head into my dress.

"I won't touch you, not like that," he says. "I swear."

"Fine," I say, looking up at him. My face is red and most likely splotchy, the last thing I need is to be caught crying in the square with Peeta Mellark. What then will people think?

* * *

The train car is something like a dream, a mix of mahogany and green velvet grander than any building in the town square. I wonder how much money it cost Peeta, how many years of labor a man like my father or Gale would have to go through in order to afford something like this. Several lifetimes, I bet.

"Here," Peeta says, moving towards the seat I have taken on one of the parlor chairs. "I have some cookies, some water. If you want something stronger I can get it from the cabinet."

"I'm good with the water," I say, barely looking up at him. I take a sip from the glass he offers me, not bothering to check out the caramel colored cookies he has placed on a napkin before me. I don't recognize them from the bakery, perhaps he had them custom made. What did they cost then, I wonder. A pence, perhaps?

He approaches me cautiously. "I can get you some aspirin if you want?"

I shake my head. "I never meant to...ruin you," he says taking a seat beside me. "Or upset you."

"No," I say, curling up into the seat. "It is hardly your fault. I asked it of you, I wanted as much."

He looks down at me, eyes bright and blue and stunning, and I wonder how I got here, how I got to a point where I allowed him to see me like this.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have - I shouldn't have, I should go." I reach for my now muddy skirts which have created marks on the floor and stand up.

"Don't leave," he says, reaching for my hand. His hand is abnormally warm for the night and it causes heat to run through my chilled fingers. The pads of his thumb trace gentle circles on the inside of my hand. "They'll assume things if you return…"

"And they won't assume things if I never return?"

"We can at least say we both went home then. Returning to the festival forty minutes after leaving makes it look like we snuck off for a liaison. More importantly, look at your dress. A button is torn and your skirts are muddy. You can't go back like that."

He's right. My hair is mussed and the top button to my dress is torn. I can't be seen going back like that. "I'm going to head home, then," I tell him. "Head to bed."

Peeta frowns. "At this hour of the night? _Alone?_ At least allow me to accompany you."

"Certainly you realize I am hardly the type of woman that needs to be accompanied home. You know full well I go into the woods by myself. I think it is you who needs the protection here, not me."

"Fine then," he laughs, "protect me. Allow me your company on the walk back to my room."

I smile at him, letting go of his hand. "Your room is a good hundred yards away from here. You'll survive."

He grabs onto my hand again, pulling me back into my seat. "You're going to get the chair muddy," I hiss.

He shakes his head against me, and it's in that moment that I feel it again, the hunger that consumed me that night in the cabin. And he's just so close, his lips mere inches from mine. Loose strands of blonde hair cascade onto my neck and it doesn't take much for me to lose control.

I press my lips to his, hovering over his bottom lip and nipping at it. He seems befuddled at first, almost hesitant, but then his hands find my waist and he pulls his body over mine, dragging me downwards into the small settee.

"Are you sure?" he asks, hovering over me and pushing the hair away from my face. "I don't want you to regret this."

"I'm sure," I murmur into his neck. Whatever I am doing with him is probably a bad idea, but I have already given him my virtue - what's another encounter going to do?

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

"Just come," I say, grabbing on to the edge of Gale's sleeve, "and don't make a scene here, you don't want that."

Gale follows me wordlessly through the square but even still I can feel the heat of his anger burning from behind me. _He will kill Peeta_ , I think, _when he discovers I am pregnant._

"Okay," Gale says as he closes the door to Peeta's small boarding house apartment. His body hovers against the frame and I remember how tall he is in the moment, how domineering he can be. "Explain yourself, explain what you have done to Katniss."

"Do you want some tea?" Peeta asks, reaching to stand up.

Gale shakes his head. "I want answers. Lord, Katniss, does your mother know about whatever this is?"

"Well..." Peeta starts, but I cut him off.

"My mother knows, Gale. And I wanted to tell you, but I knew you wouldn't react kindly. That's why you have to promise not to do anything when I say this, alright?"

Gale casts a glance at Peeta. "I can't promise that, Catnip."

"Gale…" I trail off, reaching for the cuff of his sleeve. " _Please_?"

Gale's eyes lock on mine and he sighs. "Okay, Katniss. I promise."

I lead Gale to one of the wearing red settees and take a spot on the opposite chair beside Peeta. I pull anxiously at the thread of of the cushioning fabric, have to stop myself from pulling through to the stuffing. Peeta's boarding room is a stark contrast to the finery of his clothes and train car. It is nice, surely, even by merchant standards, but Peeta must think it's clapboard walls and pale wooden furniture practically barbaric by comparison. I wonder if that is how he sees me, insignificant and lowly in contrast to the girls he knows back home.

I take a deep breath and stare at the boy who I was once expected to marry. "Gale, I'm pregnant."

* * *

**Disclaimer: This chapter was somewhat short, but I wanted to get something out to y'all without revealing too much! What do you think of Katniss's conversation with Peeta? Is she making a mistake in sleeping with him?**

**As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. I post a lot of inspiration pics on there as well as on my weheartit account, which is under the same user as my account.**


	7. Burn

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games - I only own my original content. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

Almost immediately Gale lunges across the room, his hands slamming against Peeta's chest with full ferocity.

"You fucking bastard," he spits out as Peeta catches onto his shirt, pushing the other boy off him. "I swear on God almighty I will make sure you pay for this."

"Gale!" I scream out, rushing over towards the two of them and placing my hands on his wrist. "Knock it off," I say, shoving him slightly. "You promised," I hiss.

Gale looks at me for a moment. His eyes are full of anger and almost...pity, which might be worse. "Alright," he says, stiffening as he calms down. Fists still curled, he returns to his seat. "It's not the end of the world, I suppose. I can take out the papers to marry her tomorrow morning."

I squint. "Marry me?"

Peeta scoffs, his eyes narrowing. "That ring on her finger is as much mine as the baby inside of her."

Gale leans inward. "Look," he says, "a man such as yourself has no business marrying Katniss. You know it, I know it, the whole town does. If she weds me, Katniss can stay in Twelve with her mother and sister. There will be gossip, certainly, but her reputation will be saved. Everyone has always expected it of us, I can raise the baby as my own."

Peeta nearly laughs. "There is no way under this sun that any child of mine will be raised by a coal miner in," Peeta's upper lip quivers, "this place. What do you think? That I am going to give you money so you can share Katniss' bed and my kid can call you daddy?"

"If you are worried about me doing right by your child…" Gale starts.

"I don't care if you "do right" by my child. I am the father, Katniss will marry me."

"And what about Katniss, huh?" Gale says, glancing over at me. "What about her? I have known Katniss my entire life-"

"You known known her?" Peeta raises his eyebrows, chuckling. "I think the fact that she is carrying my child is evidence that I have known her better than you ever will."

Gale scoffs. "You think you're better than me, don't you?"

"I hardly have to think it."

"Ah, yes," Gale rolls his eyes, "because your daddy leaving you money that lets you buy your way into a desperate girl's bed makes you a better man?"

"Don't even think-" Peeta's face goes white and I swear he's going to do something, but then Gale stands up.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking down at me. "I should leave, for Katniss's sake, before I do something I'll regret." At that Gale gives a little nod at me and turns toward the door. I don't miss his tightened fists and close drawn shoulders...or the tears just barely touching his eyes.

"Wait," I call out as he closes the door behind him. "Gale!" I yell, dashing across the room and through the door at a speed this dress hardly allows.

"Katniss," Gale sighs, stopping in his tracks and turning around. We're in the inn's public parlor, I'm sure my mother would consider this a far too public place to have this conversation. But there is nobody around and besides, it's not like I can save myself from being a scandal.

"Run away with me," he says, throwing his arms out. "You don't have to do this, you don't have to give yourself to - to that man."

I shake my head slightly, leaning into one of the faded floral settees. "You know we can't," I tell him. "We have our families to think about."

"How," Gale shakes his head, staring at me. "How did you end up here? How did this happen, Katniss?"

My eyes widen in horror, voice squeaking as I speak. "What do you mean, how did it happen?"

Gale rolls his eyes. "I'm not askin' for you to tell me how you did it. Trust me," he chuckles sadly, "I don't need those details."

It's Peeta braced between the doorway. I can't help but wonder how much of the conversation he has overheard, or if I should even care.

"I thought you were going to leave," Peeta says a little mockingly, "for Katniss."

"You're right," Gale, says, jaw hardening. "You and I can discuss this issue at a later date. Katniss, if you ever need me, you know where I am."

As Gale turns to exit, Peeta looks at me expectantly. "Come on," he says, holding the door open. "Come on inside, Katniss. We should...discuss things."

I look back a little hesitantly but eventually conceed with a sigh. "Fine," I say. "You're right, we should talk...about the wedding."

As soon as the door closes, Peeta broaches the subject. "Would you consider it?" he asks me as he slams the door behind him.

"Would you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I wouldn't do anyways, wouldn't marry Gale, wouldn't deprive my child of their father...but I don't tell Peeta that.

He shakes his head. "No," he says, "I wouldn't. I wouldn't allow him to take you away from me, and certainly not my child."

Something about the way the two of them treated me in there, as if I was cattle to be sold makes me stand defiant. "You couldn't stop me if I wanted to," I tell him.

He snaps his head up. "Oh Katniss, you have no idea."

"I think it's you who has no idea, Peeta," I say, turning up my nose with a huff. "I'm better at hiding than you might think."

"You run off with him? With my child?" He shakes his head, "Money can buy a lot of things, Katniss."

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

Hands glide against my skin, fingers prying underneath my skirts. "Oh, God," he says as he presses a kiss against my neck. "I want to take you to bed," he murmurs, lifting the underside of my dress and hoisting my body onto his lap.

"Okay," I say a little dumbly as he wraps his arms around me, carrying me bridal style across the carpeted floors of the ornate rail car.

I assume he means to lead me to the dining area on the other side of the car, to take me on the table or the floor or something like that. But when he pushes against the mahogany divisor, a tall wall with a port door that I assumed lead to a closet, and instead reveals a small bedchamber, even the misty haze of lust doesn't overcome my wonder.

It's a rather large bed for a train car, not much smaller than the one my father shared with my mother. There's even a small nightstand pressed between the bed and the wall. But instead of a weary mattress and worn covers like the one back at our home, this bed is piled high in a plush feathers and soft billowy coverings of deep blue fabric. When Peeta collapses me against it I feel like I have fallen into the clouds.

"Better than a field, I assume?" he grins, his fingers tugging at his necktie. "Figured we might as well do it proper at least once."

I'd expect such a small space to be confining. But there's something cozy about this place, something that reminds me of when I was younger and would make a fort out of blankets with my father.

"It's nice," I tell him, running my fingers over the top of the coverings. "What is this fabric?"

"Silk?" Peeta says, a little incredulous. "You don't mean to tell me you've never felt silk before. Quite frankly, I think that might be more of an indignity than your never having…"

"I have," I inform him defensively, my cheeks flushing at the implications of his words. It's a lot easier to kiss him and lie in his bed than it is to talk about it.

I don't tell him that the thought of having a coverlet of silk surprises me. I have heard of ladies having entire dresses of silk, but I have never seen one in person. Besides, bed coverings are different. My day dresses are certainly more presentable than my sheets. In my head I try to calculate the cost of such an item like a silk coverlet. The silk they sold in the general store for handkerchiefs and embellishments cost at least five dollars a yard, sometimes more. For a laborer like Gale or my father that would be more than half a week's salary.

"Are you alright?" Peeta asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

"It's just the silk," I mutter stupidly.

"Does it bother you?" he asks me. "I mean, I can take it off."

"No," I say, squinting. "It's just, well, you would have to use at least ten yards of fabric in a coverlet. And silk is a good five dollars a yard, which means that this coverlet is equal to half a year's wages for some."

"You're thinking too much," he sighs, collapsing beside me on the bed. "I can only hope you don't think of money or finances as you kiss me," he says a little too pointedly.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, daring him to flesh out the implications of his comment.

He just shakes his head and rolls over on top of me. "Nothing," he says as he presses a kiss to my neck. His body lowers against mine, his feet rolling off the bed and dragging me by the legs so that half my body dangles on the edge.

It's not long before he's unlacing my shoes and pulling at my undergarments. His fingers move like a man possessed, desperate to get me out of my bearings. And then he stops…

"There's a rather large tear in this one," he says as he undoes my left shoe and tosses it to the floor. "Your stocking, it's ripped along the bottom."

I flush hot. "It's fine," I say, "just take it off."

"It probably won't last much longer, not that's a surprise. I recognize the quality - factory made, Snow and Company?"

I look down at him, annoyed by his sudden interest in where I buy my undergarments from. "Probably," I reply.

"It has been shown that it is a better financial decision to buy garments from one of the more expensive retailers. In the long run it saves the consumer money."

"I didn't come to you for financial advice, Peeta," I remark. "And for the record, I have had these stockings for nearly a year. They're my best pair."

"Oh," he says, his eyes narrowing into a frown. "I didn't mean to...nevermind."

I study him intently as he unravels the rest of my underthings. He's attractive, I've determined that previously, but there's a certain softness to him here, in this moment, that I don't get to see when he's posturing in town or making jokes at my expense. Something delicate about the way he single mindedly focuses on the laces of my boot, how he unravels my stockings with care not to tear them.

"Here," he says, folding the black stockings and putting them in my boots. "I'll put them over there. Now close your eyes," he says, as his head dives below my skirts, "let me do something for you."

I screw my eyes shut the second his mouth touches me.

I think the act might be viewed as vile in practicality, or even a sin, but right here - right now, it just feels like heaven has shattered below me. My toes tighten as his tongue presses against my core, my legs squeezing around his back as if they themselves can pull me closer to completion.

"Peeta," I whimper, a little embarrassingly as I feel my senses heighten.

"Say my name again," he murmurs. "I want you to say my name."

* * *

**Author's Note: So there's that. What did you think of the fight between Peeta and Gale? What about Peeta's attitude in the flashback?**

**The prices for silk were found in a book of consumer prices over the 19th century. They are accurate to the times.**

**Remember to favorite, follow, review, etc. As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. I just started a fanfiction challenge writing blog (with a secret santa exchange) called thefanfictiongames!**

**If you like my historical fics, check out The Ruby Thief - a Prince!Peeta story where Katniss, a thief and part time assassin, gets a little more than she bargained for.**


	8. Smoke

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything other than my original content. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended, this work is written for fun only. Big thanks to my beta for helping out with this chapter!**

* * *

**_Three Months Prior_ **

* * *

My fingers grip his hair this time, my head rolling back as I comply with his wishes. His name leaves my lips with a sudden reprieve— _the feeling_ coursing through my body as his touch falls all around me.

"Peeta," I say sharply with a gasping shudder as his hand migrates to my waist. My entire body seems to tighten, and I can't even bother to be embarrassed at the sounds my body makes. Then, just as I feel closer to release than I ever have been, _he stops_ , pulling upward to press a kiss against my abdomen.

"You stopped…" I comment, a little dumbfounded and more than annoyed. I take a breath, my mouth forming into a scowl as I stare upward at the little room's ceiling.

"What? Were you enjoying that?" he asks me, a little mockingly, the corner of his mouth spreading into a grin.

I pull upward, digging my naked feet into the plush mattress as I force myself to look at him. "Don't mock me," I say, crossing my arms around my chest. "Just because I'm not experienced, because I haven't slept my way through a million debutants and serving girls, doesn't mean you get to-"

"Calm down, Katniss," he says, pulling himself onto the bed and pressing a kiss against my neck. I resist at first, wriggling away from his touch, but then I feel the hardness of him pressing against me… "I was just warming you up," he murmurs against my throat. "Don't worry, I'm not going to...abandon your need."

And then he pulls my body fully against him. Our bodies moving together in a chaotic, near violent, need for each other. I have never felt so desperate before, so needing and empty, as when he tosses his belt on the floor. The moment before he finally enters me feels like a hunger almost worse than any other I have experienced.

Our bodies move in a rhythm - gasps of pleasure are exchanged as he moves inside of me. It feels better this time, and I'm not sure if that's on account of _his mouth_ or it being my second time. There's something more intimate about the encounter now as well. Something about the way his eyes bore into mine, the way his hand pushes into my shoulder as he enters me. He's powerful and pressing, sure, but behind it there is a closeness between us, an understanding that was missing during the encounter of strangers in the woods.

Or maybe I'm just being silly? Maybe the thing I feel now is nothing more than tepid lust and fine sheets?

We are half propped up against the headboard, and mostly clothed, when I feel that tightness return. The weight of his hand seems to press harder into my body with every movement of my mouth or call of his name. My body closes around him, around the tight press of him inside of me, as I find release. It's not seconds later before he follows, hastily pulling out of my body and spilling onto my thigh.

"I told you it would be better this time," he says as I look up at him, my heavy breath near panting as I find my resolve.

"I guess." I wrinkle my nose, the wall of lust falling as I take notice of my sticky thigh and sweat covered brow.

"You guess?" He raises his eyebrow at that. "You guess," he repeats, raising his voice a little. "Sweetheart, that sound you made as you fell beneath me was a lot more than a 'I guess'."

I sniff. "You think too highly of yourself," I say, eyeing the room for something to clean myself up with.

"Here," Peeta says, reaching over into the nightstand and tossing me an odd bit of white cotton with barely a glance.

"Thanks," I reply, turning away from him and cleaning the mark of him off my body. I drop it on the floor afterwards, unsure of what to do with the thing and too scared to ask.

My things sit in a pile on the floor, too far away to reach, so I flop across the bed, grab them, and force my feet into the too small boots.

"So, uh," Peeta runs his fingers through his hair, not moving from his position on the bed. "We're good, right?"

"Yeah." I shrug, pulling my boot laces tighter. "Everything's fine."

"Oh," he says, buttoning up his own clothing as I tie the knot with my laces. "You're not, ya know, mad at me or anything?"

"No," I say with a bite. "I just said that."

"It's just," he glances at me, "you seem…"

"I'm fine, Peeta," I snap, "nothing's wrong. Got it?"

"Okay, okay," he says, raising his hands in mock protest. "How about this, then, we head back to the square and stay for a while, make an appearance, make it look like we have nothing to hide."

I squint at that. "You're the one who said we shouldn't go back…"

"Quite frankly, I only said that because I needed the chance to talk to you," he says with a half grin.

"Yeah," I snort. " _Talk_ , yeah right."

"Look," he bites his lip, "we can head back if we start now." his hand snakes around to mine and he catches my eyes with a gentle look. "Just trust me, alright?"

* * *

I kick the leaves underneath my feet as we walk along the stretch of shops towards the bright lights and noise coming from the square.

"Wait, stop—" he says, halting me, as we edge towards the last of the buildings. With little explanation he pulls a silken handkerchief from the recess of his pockets and drops it into the puddle, dirtying it up with the heel of his shoe before retrieving it with his bare fingers.

"Trust me," he says, mimicking his earlier words, as I stare at him incredulously, unsure if he's crazy or wasteful or both.

I just shake my head and resume my walking pace, only stopping when we reach the brick pathway that marks off the square. The people are still milling about as energetic as ever, and the wafting smells of cakes and fineries is delightful as ever, but I still hesitate as we near closer to the town. Unfortunately, I don't have a chance to ask Peeta if we should split up or what, because somebody spots him out of the crowd.

"Mr. Mellark!" A bellowing voice announces, causing several ears to perk up. It's Mayor Undersee, dressed in his best fineries and walking towards us. "And Katniss," he pauses a little, raising an eyebrow, "dear, I believe your mother is looking for you."

"Yes," a nosy voice from somewhere in the crowd picks up, "where _have_ you been."

"Miss Everdeen dropped her father's handkerchief in the gully," he says, dropping the piece of fabric on the table in explanation. "I helped her find it, was hardly going to let the young lady fish it out by herself."

The explanation, though perhaps questionable given he ran after me, must be enough to suit propriety, because Mayor Undersee embraces Peeta, slapping a hand on his back and guiding him towards a group of merchants.

I sit there alone for a while, not bothering to seek out my mother and ignoring the pinched stares of the people moving by. I couldn't stand to be around my mother right now, not after I just had a liaison with Peeta Mellark in a train car.

So instead I sit there, my head resting on my hand as I try to make it through the affair. And then somebody drops down beside me.

"Hey, Katniss," he says, quieter than normal.

"Hey, Peeta," I say, not bothering to look at him. "What do you want?"

"I—" he starts, "would, would you like to dance with me?"

"Dance?" I raise an eyebrow, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It makes us look like we have nothing to hide," he argues, turning towards me. His eyes light up with one of those smiles he's always giving me, the ones that tempt me into doing things like joining him in the train car or giving myself to him in a field. "Besides, nothing wrong with a man asking a lady to dance."

"Fine," I give in, "but only for the sake of respectability."

He grins, accepting my hand and leading me to the dance floor. We sit on the edge of the group waiting for the next call, my dress pressing against his trousers as we make idle chatter, or rather, he makes idle chatter with me. We observe the chaos of laughter and music and gaiety. I try to focus on that chaos, ignoring the looks people give me, ignoring Gale's biting stare from across the square…

When they finally call the next dance out I grab Peeta's hand, dragging him to the front of the line and allowing myself to briefly explain the steps before we get caught up in the crowd.

Peeta's a little heavy on his feet, no doubt, but he keeps up better than I would expect, only tripping occasionally. He's sweet, though, here, harmlessly flirting with the older ladies and tipping me back with laughter as he attempts to master the steps. There's something delirious about it too, something wonderful and painful all at once as I move around with the crowd, as he swings me around and catches me.

I'm not one for dancing, but when the music halts I'm almost disappointed.

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

_"You run off with him? With my child?" He shakes his head, "Money can buy a lot of things, Katniss."_

I scoff, his words a painful reminder of the persona he donned when we first met. "Don't be an ass, Peeta."

He snorts, shaking his head and giving a little huff of annoyance. "Oh, I'm being an ass, am I?" he asks, his knuckles turning white as he grips the back of the parlor chair.

"Yes," I say, rolling my eyes, "you are."

"You wish it was him, don't you?" His voice raises, the accusing tone hitting me in the face. "Well guess what, Katniss? You fucked up. If you hated me so much, _you should have taken him between your legs instead._ "

The slap of his words vibrates throughout the room. The shock of silence comes first, our eyes locked together as his mouth opens to say something, then falters.

"I'm, I'm sorry—" he says with the slight shake of his head. "I shouldn't, I shouldn't have said that."

"No," I tell him, a lump forming in the back of my throat, "you shouldn't have."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you all for sticking with this story - what did you think about Peeta and Katniss's interaction here and how do you think their relationship is going to work out in the present era?**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and girlonfirerecs. I'm going to recommend you check out my weheartit board for this story at weheartit.com/dandelionsandroses. I post a lot of inspiration pics and stuff like that over there, and if you're interested it will help you get a "feel" for the story!**


	9. Warmth

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creations. Big shout out to my lovely beta dandelionlass for helping out with this chapter!**

* * *

**_**Present** _ **

* * *

"I didn't mean it," he starts, "I just, I know you would prefer to be with him, to be with a man who you share things in common with, a man who knows you better than I do. A man who you have more in common with than a cheap screw."

"A cheap screw? You are the one who insisted this was more…?"

"It was for me," his forehead wrinkles, "you know that, but I'm not stupid, as much as I would like to pretend otherwise I know I could never have you if it weren't for the baby."

"That's-"

"It's true, we both know it," he sighs. "And one day, when we have that child in our arms, things will change, but for now…I just, I can't handle you resenting me."

"I don't resent you," I scoff, "it's not like this is your fault."

"My mother," he takes a breath, biting his lips, "she always resented us. Now, it was different for them, they were already courting and premarital pregnancies weren't as uncommon then, but she was already four months with my eldest brother when they wed. Granted, my mother would have probably married him for the money anyways, but that didn't stop her from taking every opportunity to blame us for her marital woes. _It was almost worse than the black eyes and bruised cheeks._ "

"Oh, Peeta…you, you never mentioned that. I knew she hit you, but..."

"It seemed silly to complain when you…when you've lost your father and all."

"It's not silly," I say, reaching out for his hand. And it isn't, in some ways my mother's apathy towards me is worse than my father's death. Having a parent not love you, hold your very existence against you...it's almost worse than losing them. "I'm not going to be your mother, Peeta."

"Oh, trust me," his eyes widen mockingly, "you're nothing like my mother...though you are both unusually stubborn. She would definitely hate you, though, which in my book is only a mark in your favor."

I wrap my hands around his, my small fingers enclosing around his larger ones. "I want to be a good father," he says, sighing against me. "And I know in order to do that I have to be a good husband as well, that I have to trust you. I just-something came over me and I'm sorry, Katniss."

"It's fine," I tell him. "You'll be a good parent, you know, better than me at least."

He scoffs. "You practically raised Prim, look at how much she adores you. And one day, our baby will love you just as much as Prim does."

* * *

_**Three Months Prior** _

* * *

I can't dance with Peeta again. It's against the rules and seen as all sorts of rude, but that doesn't mean I don't bristle when a pretty blonde girl takes his hand and leads him to the floor. I wonder if he will sleep with her, take _her_ back to his train and make _her_ senseless under his touch. Not that it matters of course, I certainly have no claim to him.

I'm almost about to leave, disappear to the edges of the party, when a firm hand against my shoulder stops me.

"Gale." I breathe, years of hunting have made me keen to smell and touch. "What—?"

My friend's eyes flit downward as I turn around to face him. "Mind joining me for a dance?"

"I was actually going to head home, but…"

"Please," he says with a desperate edge. "Just one dance, okay?"

I bite my lip and sigh. "Sure, Gale," I say, letting him wrap his hands around my waist and pull me into the line of people.

His strong hands aren't as knowing as Peeta's, but Gale's a good dancer, always in beat with the rhythm and a great lead at that. Though I don't think that's the reason why the girls in town always want to dance with him.

"So," he comments as he swings me backwards, "you and _him_ are friendly now, I hear. You and _Peeta Mellark_."

It's not a question. No, his words are a tightened statement, harsh and flat and dangerous "He's not like you'd expect him to be," I say with a sigh, "once you get to know him better."

"Oh really?" he laughs derisively. "Towards you, perhaps."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as he swings me out.

He rolls his eyes. "Let's just say I don't think Mr. Mellark would be so _friendly_ to me, even if I did 'get to know him better.'"

* * *

I keep silent the whole way home, carefully ignoring Gale as our families walk back to the cabins. Arms crossed, I shuffle heavily through the stretch of woods, avoiding Gale's half hearted attempts to reconcile.

His insinuation, however true it may be, stung. Besides, last thing I need is Gale knowing about Peeta. Whatever he would do in retaliation, most likely something that would involve the flying of fists, would surely jeopardize his livelihood.

By the time we get back to the house I nearly pass out on the bed, a mix of frustration and exhaustion overcoming me.

* * *

Like after every Harvest Festival, people talk. Abuzz with stories of vice and folly, the town lights up in a connection of church ladies and old widows. It's the first time I have been the subject of said gossip, but I know from the odd looks I get at the general store that the town has latched on to the story of Peeta and I's disappearance.

Luckily, by some stroke of fate, it's not even a day after before it comes out that the milliner is having an affair and suddenly any rumors about me are old news.

I only see Peeta in passing over the days that follow the Harvest Festival. We're careful to be polite, but not too polite, when we see each other. No need to fan the flames of busybody old ladies.

I don't have much time to meet up with him anyways. With the townspeople having spent all their money on the festival, there aren't many people left to purchase luxuries like meat or fur. By the end of the week I'm already breaking into my meager savings in order to buy flour.

But then, one day, early in the morning when I get up to milk our goat, I spot a little note on the doorstep that says _noon, meet me at the edge of town._ Even though it's unsigned, I know immediately it's Peeta's from the thick cardstock paper and long, swoopy lettering.

He's carrying two boxes in his hands when I meet him later in the day. One is a red plaid lunch tin, shiny in a way that makes it clear the thing is a recent purchase. The other is a larger paper box, a pretty, floral, blue patterned octagon with a pale pink ribbon tied around it.

I eye him suspiciously as I take his appearance in. Aside from the unusual boxes, he's wearing clothes far more casual than he normally would. In fact, he's not even wearing a suit jacket, just brown slacks, a white shirt, and suspenders.

"We should probably head out," he says, not bothering to explain anything about his appearance, "before anybody sees us, that is."

"Head out where?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.

"The woods," he explains matter of factly.

"The woods?"

"Yes," he says, peering out towards the mountains, "I figured we could have some lunch, go for a hike."

"A hike?" I laugh. " _You_ want to go on a hike."

"Oh, Katniss, how you insult me. I will have you know that nature is terribly trendy at the moment. Besides, can't a man ask _his_ girl to have a picnic with him? Nothing harmful about that. Now," he laughs, "stop looking at me like I'm luring you to your death."

He holds his hand out for me and I accept it with a little roll of my eyes. We walk in the direction of the woods, still hand in hand, before finding a spot to settle down in.

As the surrounding foliage turns from dust covered plain to lush green terrain, we come across a little empty patch, not that much different from the one where we first consummated our relationship.

"Is this good?" Peeta asks, shaking out a red and white blanket he produces from the lunch tin.

I nod wordlessly, letting him set up the boxes before collapsing on the fabric covered grass. The past couple of weeks have been mostly rain and slush, but today, for once, it's bright and sunny. The sky above me is a vibrant blue, but we are already getting more cold days, soon enough it will be winter again.

"It's getting chilly out," I say absentmindedly as Peeta sits cross legged beside my outstretched body.

"You want my jacket?" Peeta asks, setting the plaid tin top off to the side and pulling things out of the box.

"No," I tell him, turning over on my side so that I'm looking at him, "I'm good."

I take him in for a moment, stare at him as he arranges the food with a fervent concentration. Little wisps of blonde hair fall over his face, his forehand wrinkling as he carefully pulls the dishes out from their various containers, releasing a sweet aroma into our little patch of paradise.

"Here," he says, holding a plate with an outstretched, expending hand. When I don't immediately accept it, he places it on the ground beside me. "Take it."

The plate is a fine white porcelain edged with gold. Real gold, I'd imagine, given that it's Peeta. But it's the food that's truly impressive. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey.

I stare blankly at the splendor for a moment. "You didn't have to do this," I say, frowning. There's something wrong about this. Maybe he's put too much preparation into it, maybe it's just cost itself.

Pulling my head up, I rest my head against his knee and run my hand along his inner thigh. "Maybe we should abandon the food," I ask, as sultrily as I can muster, "do something else instead?"

He laughs in response, muttering something to himself as he brushes my hand away. "What?" I ask, scowling back at him.

"Nothing," he says, the corners of his mouth still turning up in that tell-tale grin. "Just eat, not everything has to be about _that_ , you know? Unless," he frowns, "you don't like it. In which case, we can always head back and I can grab something…"

"No," I interject, "it's fine." Taking the fork he hands me, I take a bite of the chicken with orange. The meat practically melts in my mouth. I haven't had food this rich in years, and all we have been eating this past month is squirrels and stale, hard bread.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, eyebrow raised, as he pops the flower shaped roll in his own mouth. I glower at him, sticking my tongue out in response.

"So, why haven't you married Gale?" he asks all of a sudden, as I'm just staring on my peas.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he says, "you're of that age and I saw the two of you dance together. Gale's a respectable man, and I'm sure if you made even the slightest indication of interest he would gladly give you his hand."

I frown. "What are you asking, exactly?"

"I guess my question is, what is a pretty girl like you doing lying a field with a man she barely knows. Why aren't you at home with your husband in a house overflowing with babes."

"I don't really plan on marrying," I tell him.

He squints at that. "Why not?"

"When my father died—" I stop myself, swallowing. "I can't put myself through that. Not here, not in this world. As for Gale, I told you it isn't like that. Besides, both of us are responsible for our own families already and there isn't enough to go around as it is."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know."

"Yeah," I say, carelessly picking at some of the flowers on the ground beside me. "There are a lot of things you don't know."

"Would it be different?" he asks. "If things were better for you...financially. Would you marry then?"

"They won't be," I say decisively, taking a bite of the pudding. "I know all the merchant boys around here, and trust me, I don't have plans of marrying any of them."

He must find something about my response funny, because he bursts into laughter. "What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "You done?" he asks as I set my empty plate to the side.

I nod, sighing at my now full stomach. At that he gives me a half smile and reaches across my body to grab the pale blue ribboned box.

"Open it," he says as he places it in my lap.

I bite my lip, carefully pulling apart the ribbon and sliding the top off. "Oh," I let out, frowning in confusion as I stare at the box's contents.

Some of the items are obviously for his benefit, skimpy, lacy undergarments and a little ribboned thing that I am under no circumstances wearing, not even for Peeta. But it's not those that bother me. It's the things tucked below them, the light blue cotton dress, the set of factory made black stockings, and oh, the shoes, perfectly made black leather boots.

"I can't accept this," I say firmly, unable to look at him. My face burns with shame. Is this some form of charity? His attempt at do gooding?

He frowns, placing a hand on my wrist. "Why not?" he asks. "I'm certain they'll fit."

"It's not that," I say, shrugging his hand off of me. "It's too much, it's not appropriate."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Appropriate? I don't think anything we have done is appropriate. Let's not start enforcing some grand sense of morals now."

I scoff. "I don't care." I shove the box back in his direction, "I'm not accepting these."

"If you're worried about people finding out, it's not like I purchased them in town. I sent away for them, had a train come into town with a few shipments I ordered. Nobody will be the wiser."

"Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow. "And what about my mother? You don't think she's going to notice if I come home with a whole new dress?"

"Then at least take the stockings," he sighs, "your mother won't notice that."

I laugh. "Peeta," I say pointedly, "I haven't had the money for brand new stockings in _years._ My mother would notice a purchase like that. Don't be an idiot."

He blinks a little, then sighs. "Am I supposed to apologize or something? Good grief, woman, I was trying to do something _nice_."

"Well," I sniff at him, "I don't need you to do anything _nice_ for me." Reaching to stand up, I shake my head. "I should go."

But before I can run, he catches on to my wrist. "Wait, Katniss," he says, softer this time. "Just, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I really did want to do something nice, I swear."

"And that thing that would barely cover my breasts," I say, tugging on my arm, "that was you being _nice_."

"Well no," he chuckles, "not that."

He produces a flask from his pocket and presents it with a proposition. "Just stay, join me for a drink." He laughs. "Maybe it will make you a little less pissed at me. My friend Johanna says ten minutes with me makes her want to down a bottle of scotch."

I narrow at him, but sit down nonetheless, accepting a swig of the vile liquid. "And this _Johanna_ ," I ask, "what kind of _friends_ are you, exactly?"

"Oh god!" He laughs at the thought. "You don't mean _me and Johanna_." He grins, "Heavens no, we tried that once, didn't work out so well."

I lean down beside him, let him pass the flask between us as the day goes by. I've never really drank much before, never had the money to waste on things like that, but I accept Peeta's offer anyways, and it's not long before my fingers are dancing along his thighs, not long before I'm touching him just like I did that rainy night that seems so long ago.

I palm him gently through his trousers, enchanted by the way his body reacts to my touch. Moving my body upwards, I place my fingers on his pants button.

"Wait—" he says, stopping me. "I need to tell you something. Uh, that train I mentioned—I'm leaving on it tomorrow night."

My eyes widen in a mix of shock and confusion. "You're _leaving?_ "

* * *

**Author's Note: BOOM! What did you think of that ending? How do you think Katniss is going to react to that bit of news? Let me know in the comment section below and don't forget to follow/favorite/kudos/whatever.**

**This chapter was "three months prior" heavy but never fear, the next chapter will have a lot more in the "present" setting.**

**Big shout out to Alma, who consistently reviews a few of my fics. I can't reply to you because you post as a guest, but I just want to let you know I do see and appreciate all your comments!**


	10. Smolder

**Disclaimer: All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creation. Big thanks to my beta dandelionlass for all her help with this story.**

* * *

**_Two Months Prior_ **

* * *

"I want you to come with me," he says all of a sudden. "The Capitol is absolutely beautiful this time of year, you would love it. I promise. It would be just the two of us, after all, away from all of these people. I could show you the coast, bring you to the beach. Perhaps we could even see Charleston?"

The Capitol, as it had been dubbed for the location of Panem's regional office, is a bustling coastal town, the wealthiest in the state. It's no surprise to me that Peeta is headed there, of course, but I still feel shock at the thought of him being so far away.

I let his offer sink in for a moment. I'm not quite sure what he means in propositioning me this way. Surely he knows I can't go with him?

I scoff. "I can't come with you. We hardly know each other."

He smiles softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face, "I'd say we know each other quite well, all things considered."

"Peeta…" I trail off, sighing.

"No," he shakes his head, looking downward, "you're right, it was a stupid idea. I just, I just thought—" He stops himself open mouthed, frowning. "Nevermind."

I shrug, ignoring the lump that's forming in the back of my throat. I hadn't thought about him leaving. Practically, I knew he would be gone sooner or later. But whenever I thought about it, despite the short time we had spent together, I always imagined Peeta as a constant in my life.

"Well," I say, gesturing back to his lap. "Last huzzah?"

His forehead wrinkles. "No," he replies. "No last huzzah. No last anything."

I shift upward, scowling at him. "Why not?" I ask. Does he mean to leave me _and_ reject me all at once?

The tips of his fingers drag along the side of my body. "I've always hated goodbyes…" he says, "and I don't want there to be a _last_ between us. That sounds so final."

"Well it is final," I retort. "No sense in sugarcoating it. We might as well...if I'm never going to see you again. Besides," I frown, "isn't that why you brought me out here?"

"Not everything has to be about _that_ , Katniss."

"Why not?" I ask, perplexed by his sudden sense of romanticism. "Isn't _that_ what this is about?"

"When you share somebody's bed," he pauses, looking down at me, "you share more than kisses and touches and bodies. You share a connection, an intimacy, a knowledge that can never be erased."

I roll my eyes at him. "We screwed on the dirt floor of the forest, Peeta."

"We made love in the garden of the gods," he tilts his head, his tone laced with fake sincerity, "surrounded by the purest things in the world."

"You talk too much," I laugh, slipping my body over his so that I hover over him, my hands bracing against the blanket. I part my mouth teasingly and press a small kiss to the crook of his shoulder. "Fine, then," I tell him, "if you're so keen on making love, go ahead and show me."

His mouth is on mine before anything else. It's a soft kiss, not lacking in need but not quite so desperate as our others. "You're beautiful," he says, staring down at me as he rests my head on the blanket.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reply with a smile that turns into a gasp as his head ducks underneath my dress, his teeth pulling at my undergarments. His fingers brush past me, teasing, as he removes the bits of clothing one by one.

I reach up a little in an attempt to make a grab for his belt buckle, but his hands stop me, pushing me downwards. "Relax," he says, brushing a kiss against my wrist. "We'll get to that."

His hands move to that spot between my legs, a finger slipping inside of me as my eyes flutter shut with pleasure. "I wish I could undress you," he murmurs against my ear. "I wish I could keep you bare and in my bed forever."

He presses a kiss against my nose, his fingers halting as he moves to unbutton his pants. And then, just like that, he's pushing inside of me, drawing in and out at a gradually increasing pace. It feels heavenly, the pulsing heat eradicating the chill of the day.

I snap my eyes open as I feel a shot of pleasure go through my body, a tensing that seems to draw from my toes to my shoulders. On instinct, I wrap my arms around him, my fingers digging into his shoulders in an attempt to relieve some of the building pressure inside of me. He's looking at me, his blue eyes peering down at the girl beneath him with a reverent stare. I don't think he expects me to catch him, because his eyes flit away when I look up at him. We look at each other for what feels like eternity, our eyes examining the other with patient curiosity. It should be uncomfortable, but it's not. It's just us...the two of us, with no separations or divides.

Last huzzah indeed.

It's afterwards, when he's lying beside me, our still clothed bodies staring up at the sky above, that he says, "You should come with me. _Please._ "

"I can't," I tell him. "You know I can't."

* * *

There's some talk of Peeta's leaving the next morning. Most of it seems to come from girls disappointed that he hasn't proposed to them or something along those lines.

I avoid it, avoid him, rather. After completing my Sunday morning trades, I stop by the Hawthorne's house, opting to go hunting with Gale over seeing Peeta off.

I feel a pang of guilt as the two of us walk into the woods, moving farther and farther away from the train station. It's not like I have any responsibility towards Peeta, or any reason to bid him farewell, but at the same time I feel like I should go see him. I can't, of course, for the same reason I can't go with him to the Capitol, but nonetheless I feel like I ought to. _But there's no sense in risking my reputation for a silly fling._

Besides, Peeta and I will most likely never see each other again. Gale, however, will be here in Twelve with me for the rest of his life. And it's not like he gets many days off as it is. Peeta, on the other hand, has all the time in the world.

"So," Gale asks as he breaks off a section of wire, working the bent metal into a trap, "Peeta Mellark is leaving today?"

"Yeah," I shrug absentmindedly, trying to focus on setting the string of my bow. "I heard."

Gale pauses to look up at me. His forehead wrinkling ever so slightly as he asks, "You... _hear it_ from him?"

I bite my tongue, and shake my head in response. "No, I just...heard. Does it matter?"

He looks at me, an unspoken question on his tongue. "Guess not."

I give him a halfhearted smile. "We better get going before the sun sets," I say, peering out at the horizon.

He nods wordlessly, finishing off his trap before setting out behind me. We trudge along the dirt trail for a while, before diverting out into the far edge of the woods. It's a good day for hunting. The start of fall has brought a new round of berries-not to mention edible plants and all sorts of small game.

But it's the turkey that's the real prize. Even after the Harvest Festival, I know I can sell a turkey. So when I spot the creature pecking at a bed of leaves, I freeze, silently motioning to Gale before lining up the shot and nailing the bird dead straight in the eye.

I'm just about to put the turkey in my game bag when I hear it.

"What are _you_ doing here?" a strong, unfamiliar voice asks. I whip around in the other direction, but before I can spring forward out of instinct, Gale's cold hands stop me. In front of us is a middle aged man, well dressed and _pointing a gun at us_.

"You're committing a crime," the man says, his eyes nodding in our directions. "Stealing from the railroad," he shakes his head, "no gratefulness for their generosity."

I swallow hard, the dead turkey hanging in my hands clear evidence of my guilt. From behind me I feel Gale raise his hand, and then—

"Don't move!" the man barks, cocking the gun. "My name is Romulus Thread, and you are under arrest."

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

_He scoffs. "You practically raised Prim, look at how much she adores you. And one day, our baby will love you just as much as Prim does."_

"We're having a baby…" I sigh, the thought rolling over me. " _We're_ having a baby."

I wonder what Peeta's baby will look like. Blue eyed and blonde haired like him, or dark like me. I hope for the child's sake it shares a resemblance with Peeta. I don't doubt there will be questions of paternity from his friends and relatives...

He laughs, squeezing my hand. "I think that's been previously established."

"Are we supposed to talk about this?" I ask him, pursing my lips. Everything has happened so quickly, telling him about the baby, agreeing to marry him…we haven't even discussed how this is going to work out, how he, of all people, is going to be my husband.

He raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean, aren't we already talking about this?"

"I mean," I pause, "what if you want to raise the child one way, and I want to raise it another? Or what if you want to name the baby something that I don't like. Or what if—"

He stops me dead with a kiss. It's a tactic I've used on him more than once, but that doesn't mean I don't frown at the diversion.

"Peeta…" I start, drawing up for air. "You didn't answer my question."

"What?" he asks, tilting his head and looking more innocent than he really ought to. Then, reaching for my hand, he plays with my ring a little. "You see this pearl?" he asks, lifting my hand up. "It means that we will be one for the rest of our lives. And yes, we will probably disagree on things, but that doesn't have to be the end of the world. What children need more than anything is love, and I have no doubt that we can give ours that much."

The corners of my mouth lift upward in a smile. "All those pretty words won't save you when you're trying to name our child something awful like Cordelia or Crawford."

He laughs, wrapping his arms around me and pecking my neck. "We should probably take out the papers today," he says absentmindedly. "I reckon news will spread, and it's not like we have time on our side. Better to put out announcements now and get this done by the end of week. Besides, I do want to get settled into the house before the baby comes."

"The house?" I wrinkle my forehead in confusion.

"For us and the baby, it's along the coast in the Capitol, a short train or boat ride from the ocean and close to my office downtown. My brother owns the property and I have been thinking of buying it from him for a while, it's the perfect place for our _children_ to grow up."

A lump forms in the back of my throat. Peeta wants children, meaning more than one. I suppose it shouldn't be surprising. I will be his wife soon enough, and not long after that the mother of his firstborn. If he wants any more children, they will have to come from me.

"You want more than one, then?" I ask.

"More than one of what?" he looks down at me, frowning. "Oh," he adds in a moment of realization, "you mean children?"

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! What did you think of Peeta in this chapter? He's getting a bit attached, isn't he? Where do you think Thread came from? Let me know in the comment section below.**

**As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and girlonfirerecs. Make sure to check out my weheartit for this story, it provides a lot of visual context for the fic.**


	11. Sizzle

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content. Snippet from the whipping scene included in this chapter. No copyright infringement intended. Big thanks to my beta dandelionlass for the quick turn around.**

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

"Yes," I say, biting my lip. "Children. I didn't know you wanted more than one."

"I know you never wanted any," he says, glancing back at the door, "but I just figured, all things considered, that we would have others. But," he sighs, "if you don't want any more after this, I won't push the issue."

"I know," I reply honestly. "Though with our track record, I won't be surprised if we have a dozen before this one turns ten."

He laughs, wrapping his hand around my body and absentmindedly twirling my dress around. "I forget. They don't have rubbers down here, do they?"

"Rubbers?" I frown, squinting at him. I have a vague understanding of the word, but the last thing I want to do is make an assumption and embarrass myself. It was like that with Peeta and I a lot, the two of us not knowing about the things in the other person's world. While I might not know what rubbers are, Peeta doesn't know what plants are edible or how to boil bark down into a stew.

"Yes," he says, chuckling. "Rubbers. They sell them back in the Capitol, and most of the big cities as well. It's a little piece of well, rubber, that is placed over the penis."

"Oh," I blush, my suspicions confirmed at his description of the term. "I knew that...but aren't they illegal?"

Peeta snorts. "This is coming from a girl that breaks the law on a daily basis?" Smiling, he adds, "You should know better than anybody else that if you're willing to pay, you can get what you want."

I cross my arms at him, suddenly annoyed at the implications of his knowledge. "And you never bothered to use these _rubbers_ with me?"

His eyes widen at my thinly veiled accusation. "They don't sell them here, and quite frankly, I didn't come down here with the intention of sharing anyone's bed. I don't normally _involve_ myself with local girls, of course…"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Couldn't you have ordered them?"

Peeta's hand rests on my stomach. "They're mostly used for disease prevention. And given that you were a virgin, I didn't worry too much about that. I figured we were fine if I pulled out. But I guess next time we'll be more careful."

"Oh," I reply, biting my lip as I accept his explanation. It's not like Peeta would have any reason to get me pregnant. Not when he barely knew me, and not when he had been the one who had offered to take me up north for an abortion. But it still bothers me, the idea that we wouldn't be in this situation had it not been for our mutual recklessness. I want the baby, I have to, but a small part of me can't help but blame him for us being here.

"We should head out," he says, nodding towards the door with a sigh, "it's getting late. Better take out the papers and make arrangements before things close down."

I let out a sigh of agreement, following him as he takes my hand and leads me through the door and out towards the street. My hand is still in his as we make our way through the town. No point in concealing what everybody is going to know about soon enough. Though, by the looks we get, it seems the news of our engagement has spread to half the town already.

Mayor Undersee seems to be an exception to this rule. His eyes practically shoot out of his head when Peeta walks up to him and asks for a license.

"Of course, of course," he stutters, shuffling around papers in an attempt to cover up his surprise. I wonder what he thinks about me. I'm not a stranger to his daughter, Madge, and over the years my family has been the subject of all sorts of interest. Perhaps he rightfully assumes I'm pregnant, as most will in the days to come.

"Ah! Here," Undersee says, placing two copies of a blank license on the desk. Addressing Peeta he adds, "The license must be completed and returned to me within two months." Then, leaninging into his chair and peering at us, he asks, "You don't intend on marrying today, do you? Because if so, I will have to find the form on officiating weddings and…"

"No," Peeta says firmly, "we intend on having a proper wedding."

"Good," Mayor Undersee replies, letting out a breath and peering at me, "because I couldn't in good faith marry a girl no older than my daughter without her mama's consent. The last thing I want to explain to your dear mother is that her eldest has run off with a Mr. Mellark."

Peeta swallows, straightening his body and wrapping his arm around my waist. "Her mother is aware of our engagement," he explains coldly. "She has given her approval."

The man shakes his head, smiling softly. "No, of course. I never meant to…"

"Thank you, Mr. Undersee," I say, swiping the papers off the counter. I grip Peeta's wrist tightly, pulling him out of the small town office with a whip of my hand. "What was that all about?" I ask, once we're out of earshot, "I thought you didn't care what people thought of us?"

"He implied that I was taking advantage of you," he shrugs, releasing my grip and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Like I'm some devilish rake who ruined you and stole you from your mother."

I scoff. "What does it matter? Besides, people aren't going to think you took advantage of me, they're going to assume I'm an opportunist."

"An opportunist?" he raises an eyebrow at that, sticking his feet in the worn dirt road as he pauses to look at me.

"You know full well how this appears from the outside. And you were right about what you said when I told you that it doesn't matter so much what people think."

"Oh," he says, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "I was right?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Yes, you were. We have each other, we have the baby. We got ourselves here, and now we have to do what's best for our child."

"People are going to talk, Katniss. I just, I don't want my child growing up and thinking that their father took advantage of their mother. Or worse yet, that their parents were forced together because of their conception. I just wish I had waited, wish I had done things properly...wish we had the chance to get together the right way."

I bite my lip. Throughout this whole ordeal, Peeta's always been the one who stood strong and sugarcoated my doubts. Now it's my turn. "Well," I start, "if it wasn't for all of our impropriety, I doubt we would even know each other, much less be anything close to a wedding."

He shrugs. "I suppose you're right, though I think fate has a way…"

I roll my eyes, resting my head against this shoulder and playing with the pearl ring wrapped around my finger. "Oh, Peeta," I sigh.

"I know you're not one for fate," he says, raising his eyebrows, "but I have this belief that some people are destined to be together, and—"

I cut him off. "And you think we're these people?" I frown at him, trying to decipher exactly what he's saying. "That we're _destined_ to be together?"

He presses a quick kiss against my forehead. "I...I think that we must be linked in some way. Are you _opposed_ to that idea?"

I look up at him, my eyes meeting his hopeful ones. "Well," I shrug, "we do have a way with storms."

He laughs, his eyes lighting up as he takes my hand, kissing my ring finger with great ceremony before wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "Close enough."

* * *

_**Two Months Prior** _

* * *

_"Don't move!" the man barks, cocking the gun. "My name is Romulus Thread, and you are under arrest."_

A lump forms in my throat as I take sight of the thing. _Under arrest?_ Nobody's been arrested for illegal hunting in these parts for years. A small voice in the back of my head wonders if this arrest is being made on Peeta's behalf, but I dismiss that thought pretty quickly. He wouldn't, _would he?_

Thread drags us through the woods, Gale by threat of gun, me by the pull of the wrist. My bones ache under the heavy grip, my fingers turning red as we make our way closer to the town. It's when we've entered the square and we have more than a few eyes on us that the man yanks on my arm, perhaps thinking I'll make a run for it.

I let out a yelp on instinct, only realizing my mistake when I feel Gale's body fly past me. Before I can even do anything, my companion's hands are on the older man, strong arms throwing him backwards. But Thread's not to be underestimated, and before Gale can draw his punch the man is bringing down the butt of his pistol in full force.

The fight passes in a dizzying blur. When one of the men from the crowd, a miner, makes a move to break the fight up, Thread informs them that he has been hired by the Mellark company. It's like a magic word. _Mellark._ Nobody here dares goes against it, not for the likes of Gale at least, and not with winter coming. So instead of defending their neighbor, friend, colleague, they merely watch, curious eyes gathering around the spectacle.

The second blow of the pistol hits Gale's head, and I know then that the fight is no longer a fair one. Something's wrong with Gale, he's disoriented, aimlessly striking around. But Thread keeps on going, keeps whipping him with the pistol like the boy he's hurting isn't even human.

_He's going to kill Gale_ , I think, _bash his head and kill him._

"No!" I cry, and spring forward. It's too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won't have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the gun and Gale. I've flung out my arms to protect as much of his broken body as possible, so there's nothing to deflect the hit of it. I take the full force of the weight against my cheekbone.

The pain is blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I fall to my knees. One hand cups my cheek while the other keeps me from tipping over. I can already feel the welt rising up, the swelling closing my eye. "Stop it! You'll kill him!" I shriek. I get a glimpse of my assailant's face. Hard, with deep lines, a cruel mouth. Gray hair shaved almost to nonexistence, eyes so black they seem all pupils, a long, straight nose reddened by the freezing air. The powerful arm lifts again, his sights set on me. My hand flies to my shoulder, hungry for an arrow, but, of course, my weapons are stashed in the woods.

It's only then that the crowd's apathy seems to break. But before any of the townspeople can make a move, somebody else steps in, hands that have touched me, held me, pushing through the crowd with a violent fervor.

"Put the girl down!" a too familiar voice barks. _Peeta._

Thread's arm drops instantly, and I bring my own to my cheek in an aimless attempt to lessen the pain. The older man looks a little sheepishly at Peeta. "They were stealing," he attempts to explain, "the boy struck me."

"Did you hit that woman?" Peeta asks incredulity, open mouth covering up the stewing anger.

Thread's voice thickens. "No," he says, narrowing his eyes at me, "I hit a _thief_."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the support guys, so sorry I got this out late. I've been crazy busy with school, moving, etc. I just didn't have the time to write much, but I'm back! Let me know what you thought in the comment section below (P.S. I did NOT mean to imply Peeta intentionally knocked her up or anything like that).**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. I also post fic reviews at girlonfirerecs. If you like this story, I'm going to shamelessly plug Coal Black Water Blue, which is another historical fic with similar themes.**

 


	12. Ash

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything from the Hunger Games series. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. Sections clipped from Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins. Big thanks to my beta, dandelionlass, for the quick turn around of this chapter! You can find her on tumblr and ao3!

* * *

_**Two Months Prior** _

* * *

_Thread's voice thickens. "No," he says, narrowing his eyes at me, "I hit a thief."_

"Leave," Peeta says, staring at the man. He's calmer than I'd expect him to be, his voice, while measured, has an almost mannered amicability about it. "Get out of my sight before I do something we'll both regret."

Thread's eyes flit between me and Peeta, a stunned expression covering his face as he moves away from me. "The girl was a public nuisance—" he says, starting to defend himself.

"Sir," Peeta says with an authoritative turn of the head, "forgive me here, but did you not beat that young man and strike that young woman under _my_ name? Did you not drag two of my citizens to the public square on some aggrandized charges of thievery?"

Thread stutters.

"I thought so," Peeta says, tightening his jaw. With a step towards me, he dismisses the man. "Get out of here. I have other things to deal with."

Thread swallows sharply, but agrees nonetheless, slouching off in the opposite direction. But before he can go to far, Peeta's at his side, swiftly removing the gun from Thread's hand and whispering a threat that barely registers on my ears. "You should have never touched her, Romulus."

Shouting at nobody in particular, Peeta raises his voice. "Somebody get Mrs. Everdeen."

It's in these moments that I first see that part of Peeta that's Mr. Mellark. I've wondered on some level how he could ever run a railroad company, chalked up his involvement in business to being nothing more than an heir. But I see now, as he directs the people around us, his voice clear and authoritative, his demeanor miles away from anything I know, that Peeta is more than the man who spends time in my bed. More in what way, I'm not exactly sure.

They load Gale up on some type of counter, men from the Seam, colleagues, perhaps, rushing to carry him in the direction of our house. I don't dare go near Gale, opting to stay several paces behind the crowd that forms around his body. I can't bear the thought of seeing him like that, of smelling the coppery sting stench? of blood or wondering what kind of damage he's going to wake up with.

It's only when we get to the house that I take a look at him. My mother's sent everybody out and is already commanding Prim before I even have the chance to breathe.

I'm filled with awe, as I always am, watching her transform from a woman who calls me to kill a spider to a woman immune to fear. When a sick or dying person is brought to her ... this is the only time I think my mother knows who she is. In moments, the long kitchen table has been cleared, a sterile white cloth spread across it, and Gale hoisted onto it. My mother pours water from a kettle into a basin while ordering Prim to pull a series of her remedies from the medicine cabinet: dried herbs and tinctures and store-bought bottles. I watch her hands, the long, tapered fingers crumbling this, adding drops of that, into the basin. Soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she gives Prim instructions to prepare a second brew. My mother glances my way. "Do you need something for your cheek?"

"No, it's just bruised," I say.

"Put some tonic on it later," she instructs. But I am clearly not a priority.

"Can you save him?" I ask my mother. She says nothing as she wrings out the cloth and holds it in the air to cool somewhat.

"He'll be fine, Katniss," Prim reassures me. "His bruises aren't all too bad."

"He has broken ribs and God knows what else," my mother says, "he'll be in a great deal of pain." I'm surprised at her honestly, surprised when she looks up from her work and takes a long hard look at me. "The real thing to worry about is his head. We'll know more when he wakes up."

Hazelle arrives next, breathless and flushed, soap still caking her arms. Wordlessly, she sits on a stool next to the table, takes Gale's hand, and holds it against her lips. My mother doesn't acknowledge even her. She's gone into that special zone that includes only herself and the patient and occasionally Prim. The rest of us can wait. Even in her expert hands, it takes a long time to clean the wounds, arrange a series of bandages beaten flesh, and setting the broken bones.

As the blood clears, I can see where every whip of Thread's gun landed. Bruises are already starting to form, bright blue and purple that will most likely fade to yellow and green over the next few days. I can see the damage to his chest now, the marks against his ribs. _How did I miss those strikes_ , I wonder, as I think back to Thread's assault. I feel anger, then guilt, as I try to multiply the gentle throbbing of my own cheek once, twice, forty times and can only hope that Gale remains unconscious. Of course, that's too much to ask for. As the final bandages are being placed, a moan escapes his lips. Hazelle strokes his hair and whispers something while my mother and Prim go through their meager store of painkillers. There's not much, of course. Drugs are hard to come by out here, and even if they weren't it isn't like we could afford them. Most of the times my mother tries to knock her patients out with liquor, but I have a feeling that might not work in Gale's situation.

Since Gale is regaining consciousness, they decide on an herbal concoction he can take by mouth. "That won't be enough," I say. They stare at me. "You know it won't be enough."

My mother just sighs in response, but out of the corner of my eye I see the look of fear on Prim's face and know that I'm right. "He'll live," my sister says, almost for her own benefit instead of mine. "He'll live, Katniss."

"Yeah," I say, "but for how long?" Nobody responds, and I don't dare press the issue when I catch sight of Hazelle staring at me through tear soaked eyes. She must be thinking about the same things I am. What we'll do with Gale if he doesn't come out right. How on earth any of us are going to afford bills with Gale disposed for weeks, maybe months.

But I suppose there's no point in thinking about those things, not right now, not when making sure Gale doesn't fall to infection is the most urgent issue at hand. So I keep my mouth shut, only saying something when I hear a steady knocking at the door.

"I've got it," I mutter, wrapping my shawl tighter and going to stand up.

My mother nods at me as she and Prim readjust some kind of brace over Gale's chest. What I find at the door, however, makes me wish I had let her answer it. It's not well wishers or town busybodies like I expected. It's him. _Peeta._

"What are you doing here?" I ask, low enough that the people inside won't notice. He's wearing the same clothes from earlier, his eyelashes coated with a fine dusting of snow that I've noticed has settled in a thin coating along the Seam.

He blinks at me, his eyes downcast as he extends an amber tinted bottle in my direction. "It's morphling," he says, "for your friend."

Morphling. I'd heard of it before. It's a popular medication, an expensive one at that. Supposedly it is more often used by businessmen looking for fun than those in pain. I didn't want to think of why Peeta might be in possession of such a large quantity.

"Who's there, Katniss?" I hear my mother call out from the house.

"Nobody," I reply, pulling the door tighter around me.

My mother, however, doesn't take this as an answer. Wiping her hands on a towel and coming around to the door she peers out. "Is that Peeta Mellark?" she asks me, eyeing our visitor and nudging the door open wider. "Don't be rude, Katniss. Mr. Mellark, would you like to come in?"

"Thank you, ma'am," Peeta responds, taking a step inside and purposely avoiding the pointed look I give him. When I hand the bottle he's given me over to my mother, she practically croons. " _Thank you_ , Mr. Mellark," she says with a sigh of relief. "You've saved the boy a lot of pain."

 

Peeta only nods in response. "Anything else I can do to help?" he asks.

My mother shakes her head politely. "This is plenty enough, Mr. Mellark. You better be on your way before the snow comes down to hard."

"Please," Peeta says, folding his hands over. It's then that I notice his knuckles are bloodied. "I like to be useful."

There's a palatable awkwardness in the room as my mother's eyes brush over to Gale. "Sir..." she starts with a sigh, "I really don't think there is any need—"

Before she can finish my sister pipes up, clearly oblivious to any of the finer social delegations involved. "There's always the shed," Prim says, giving Peeta a toothy grin, "that wouldn't take too much time."

"The shed?" Peeta asks, almost hopeful. He ignores me, once again, when I kick the edge of his boot. _Don't,_ I say with a silent scowl. 

My mother sighs. "There's a box out in the shed full of medical supplies, it's high up and under some of the winter equipment. We're running out of ointments and rags, but I'm sure Katniss could—"

Before my mother can protest further, Peeta interjects. "No, ma'am. I've got it."

"Well," my mother places a hand on her hip, giving in, "better head out there now before it gets too snowy." Then, eyeing me warily she adds. "Go with him, Katniss."

* * *

We trudge out to the shed in silence. The cold is biting, even as we enter the little room. Nonetheless, I refuse him when he offers me his coat.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he tells him as I turn him down, his voice hollow. "I really am sorry."

I pull a candle out from underneath an empty flour sack and light the wick. "I know," I say, turning away.

"But that's not enough."

He leans back against the rough interior of the shed, taking a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and re-adjust the buttons on his jacket. "You're leaving," I say, "what does it even matter, Peeta?"

When he doesn't respond I speak up. "I was an idiot. I should have never touched you. At least now, now that this has happened, now I know I was in the wrong." _Now I know I have no place in his world. Now I know I have no business viewing him as anything more than a hailed overseer._

He takes a minute to reply, but when he does it's not nearly as hollow as his earlier words. "I'm not Thread, Katniss," he says, his voice something akin to a firm hiss. "I'm not Thread anymore than you're those idiots who stood by and watched as Gale was brutalized."

"They were just doing what was right for their families," I defend, whether for the sake of being contrary or out of genuine understanding, I don't know.

"They were being cowards," he spits, with more than a hint of malice. He stands straighter now, his body looming over mine.

"That's easy for you to say," I mutter, turning my head towards the rack of shelves along the far side of the wall. We're too close in this confined space, and even now it takes everything inside of me not to reach up and kiss him.

"How so?" he asks, almost in challenge.

I look up at him, at the dim reflection of his profile. "You're the one they were afraid of."

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

We spend the rest of the day making arrangements. I try to look interested as Peeta discusses flowers and food with the local mercantile, his arm pointedly wrapped around my waist, but as the day passes by I find myself bored with the details. Peeta, however, seems more invested in how the color of silk hydrangea will pair with my eyes than any merchant girl, or even Prim.

Peeta walks me back home, his hand intertwined in mine as we make our way through the town.

"You're such a dandy," I tease, leaning against his shoulder as the sun sets above us.

The barely there stubble of his cheeks rubs roughly against my forehead as he leans into me. "Hmm…" he says, pursing his lips. "Is that so?"

I squeeze his hand. "Yup," I pop my lips, changing the lilt of my voice to the high pitched squeal of an over-excited yankee lady. " _Oh Katniss_ , I really don't think pale blue pairs well with such a deep green."

He laughs, deep vibrations pulsating against the hand I've pressed to his chest. Lowering the arm he has wrapped around my waist, he pinches my ass. "I thought we'd settled this one," he says as I yelp, his lips pressed hotly against my ear. "For such a _dandy_ I do manage to find myself between your legs on a regular occasion. You know," he pauses, pressing a kiss under my earlobe, "I'm starting to question whether my being an absolute undeniable priss is a turn on. Ought I to paint my face and purchase a corset? I hear that is all the rage in France these days."

I roll my eyes at him, pushing him off of me and crossing my arms. "I swear, I have no idea why I ever let you _find yourself between my legs_ , as you so aptly put it."

He tilts his head at me, beaming. "Oh, I know exactly why you did it. Slept with me, that is."

"Oh, really?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, because he can't possibly know. I barely know myself.

He nods, a bounce in his step as he turns to face me. "Because you _liiike_ me," he says in a sing-songy voice. "Katniss Everdeen _liiikes_ me."

"See," I sigh, rolling my eyes dramatically, "this is exactly what I mean. Sometimes, Peeta, I swear, you act like a drunken child."

He bites his lip, steadying his hands around my hips. "Oh, I can behave like a man. I think you know that by now.." And then, without the slightest respect for decency, he grabs me by the arms and presses me against a tree.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Let me know what you thought in the comment section below! How do you think these past events will affect Katniss and Peeta's relationship? Will Peeta really leave Twelve?

As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and girlonfirerecs. If you would like to check out the inspiration board for this fic, fly by my weheartit.


	13. Cinder

 

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. I only own my original content. In this particular chapter, I used three sentences from Suzanne Collins. As always, big thank you to my wonderful beta dandelionlass for all her work on this chapter!**

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

Peeta's mouth is on mine before I even have the chance to breathe. I've missed him, I realize, as he leans into me, his body pressing against mine. "I thought," I pull away from him in between kisses, "I thought you were the one who wanted to wait."

"Why Katniss," Peeta grins, "I will have you know that engaged couples kiss all the time. Kissing does not necessarily imply that one must engage in a sexual manner."

" _Engage in a sexual manner?_ " I shake my head at his mocking tone and playfully shove him away from me. "With you it always seems to," I say pointedly.

In response he sighs against my neck, digging his feet into the ground below us as he braces his body against mine. "Well," he lets out with a melodramatic sigh, "you've got me there."

I roll my eyes at that, but when he makes another attempt at my neck I don't stop him. By the time his hand slips to my breast I've given up on teasing him and have committed to the feeling of him fully against my body.

"I should probably head home," Peeta says abruptly a few minutes in, even though his fingers are still pressed against my breast and his other hand is running up my thigh.

" _What?_ " I gape at him, quickly shoving him off of me. "But—"

He cuts me off with a light kiss. "It's late," he says with a devious smile that makes me think the whole thing is intentional, "you better head home. We have a long day ahead of us."

* * *

_**Two Months Prior** _

* * *

"And what about you, Katniss?" Peeta's eyes flit downward. "Are you afraid of me?"

I shrug, barely noticing the way the back of my dress catches onto a loose nail. "I should be," I tell him. "I have no reason not to."

My response seems to irk him and he lets out an airy, almost disbelieving, breath as he responds. "No reason?" he asks, his voice harsh and flat yet still somehow imperceptibly incredulous. "Have the past few weeks, what we've done together… _shouldn't they mean something?_ "

I'm surprised that the last part seems less rhetorical than I'd expect, but I shrug again, yanking angrily at the caught threads around my collar in distraction. "It's just _sex_ , Peeta. I thought we'd established that."

His lips tighten at that, but he gives me an almost accepting nod nonetheless. "Alright, Katniss," he says, a flat smile forming. "I suppose there is nothing else that can be said on my part."

I turn from him, facing body in other direction. "It's up there," I tell him, pointing to the wooden crate of medical supplies.

At that he reaches from behind me, his body momentarily surrounding me as he leans forward and pulls the crate down with ease. He doesn't seem to think ahead, however, because I end up trapped between his frame and the supplies box. "Peeta," I grit out anxiously as I make an attempt to duck from beneath him.

"Oh," he flusters, quickly placing the box on the ground and letting me through. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

I'm facing him now, my back braced against a half-rotted support beam I should have replaced ages ago. "It's fine," I say, staring at a dusty spot on the ground.

"Can't you look at me?" Peeta's voice cracks on the question. "Or is that against the rules?"

" _Peeta_ ," I sigh, crossing my arms, "don't. _Please._ "

"No," he stands a little straighter at that, readjusting his shoulders in an almost offensive stance. If he was anyone else I'd expect him to strike at something from the stance he's taken.

"No?" I raise an eyebrow at that, turning my head up the slightest bit.

His lips are chapped and I notice the slightest bit of stubble forming across his face. "No," he repeats, "I at least deserve for you to look at me. If you hate me, _fine_. That's your prerogative, Katniss." He swallows. "But don't tell me I haven't, at the very least, earned the right to have you look me in the eyes and tell me how it is between us. Maybe you're right, maybe the sex was merely that, but over the past few weeks I have spent enough time in your company to be entitled to the position of acquaintance. So look at me, Katniss. Spit in my face, tell me you never want to see me again. I don't care, just look at me."

I do. And it's something in the familiarity of his body, or the closeness of his breath, that makes me respond the way I do. Or maybe it's the way his chest is squared against mine, or how he stares at me, waiting, with those eyes. Either way, I find myself gripping at the lapels of his coat, and before I even have a chance to stop and think I'm pulling his lips down against mine.

His face is cold, his lips wet with a sprinkling of snow. It takes a while for him to respond, but after a few seconds he catches on, his still bloodied hands grabbing at my waist and pressing me against the wall. I fall into it for a moment, we both do, but then I feel his fingers softly cupping my cheek and it all comes back to me. Then my thoughts are with Gale, with all the reasons we shouldn't be doing this.

I shove Peeta away from me with a nearly violent jerk. He fumbles backwards in response, his head banging against a shelf. "You should go," I tell him as I try to catch my breath.

His jaw tightens, and he runs his hand instinctively against the spot where a bump will most likely form. "Yeah," he says as he pulls at a blonde curl, "I guess I should."

He swallows at that and in the silence of the moment our eyes lock. I feel his gaze on me then, awkward and intense, as I try not to stare at the redness of his cheeks or the way his shoulders seem to sag.

"Yeah," I finally reply, "you should."

* * *

I trudge back to the house only after I'm sure Peeta's gone ahead of me. The medical supplies are heavy, but I manage to drag into the kitchen with little fuss.

"Mr. Mellark left?" my mother asks, surprised, when I drop the crate on the edge of the counter.

I nod in response, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah, he had to leave."

My mother narrows her eyes at me, a pinched expression forming across her forehead. "Well, I hope you gave him my gratitude. He may have very well saved Gale's life."

"He may have very well killed him," I mutter just under my breath. Saying the words out loud stings. I'm not even sure if I have a right to blame Peeta for what happened, but that part of me that wants to hate him is oddly soothed by the thought.

"What was that?" she asks, her hands kneading into a mixture of snow and some kind of herbal remedy.

"Nothing," I reply sharply, shaking my head. "Here, let me help you with that."

I fall asleep beside Gale that night, stay with him long after Rory has brought the kids home and Hazelle's passed out on the settee. I squeeze his hand the entire night, even though I'm certain he has no idea I'm even here. After a while, my fingers find his face. I touch parts of him I have never had cause to touch before. His heavy, dark eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, the line of his nose, the hollow at the base of his neck. I trace the outline of stubble on his jaw and finally work my way to his lips. Soft and full, slightly chapped like Peeta's. His breath warms my chilled skin.

For the first time I really stop and think about what I have done with Peeta. Maybe it's the way Gale looks broken over my kitchen counter, or just being in my house for once. In the woods or the train it never seemed so distinct, the difference between the two of us, but now I know. I was being selfish, incredibly, foolishly selfish when I slept with Peeta. I knew it too, but I continued to carry on with him out of what, lust, greed?

It's not until next morning, not until long after the train to the Capitol has left, that I find what Peeta has left me. I'm still half asleep when my mother summons me out to the shed for a bottle of medical alcohol. When I first spot the parcel, I think I might be delusional. The bright floral paper it's wrapped in looks so out of place among the dusty boxes and dull equipment. But it's there even after I take a couple seconds to blink, two whole dollars and a stack of envelopes slipped between a couple of shelves. There's no note attached, just an address scrawled across a slip of paper, but it doesn't take long to figure out who it's from or what it's for.

I almost consider writing to him. Then, when I decide not to, I make a promise to send the money back to him. But it's another two weeks before Gale is well enough to walk on his own. My mother says he's lucky to be alive, much less doing as well as he is.

I don't see it that way. With Gale not working, things are harder than ever. I keep the two dollars pinned in my pockets, hesitant to let that kind of money out of my sight. It's about a week or so in when I spend the first dollar. Posy needs new shoes and there's not enough grain to make it through the months it will take Gale to get better. I figure I can write Peeta, and return the rest of the money, with the last dollar.

I end up breaking the second dollar a week later when the stove breaks. It's not like we can't eat, after all. Next thing I know mother wants to buy some kind of ointment for Gale. She doesn't bother asking where I got the money when I hand her the last of it.

It's after that, when my mother announces that she thinks it will be another week before Gale will be able to make it to the mines, that I start to panic. With Peeta's money gone I have no safety net. What will happen if one of the children gets sick? Or better yet, I get sick?

There's no point in worrying much about it though. Instead, I figure I better stock up on meat while I can. Without Gale to help it will be that much harder, and I ought to make a decent bit of savings before the ground freezes up and money becomes even tighter than it already is.

* * *

Out of desperation, I decide to spend a night or two out in the woods. Most of the land near the Seam has been picked dry in preparation for winter, so I figure the hike is worth the game. Not like I really have a choice or anything. At the end of the day, both my family and Gale's have to eat. I end up going farther than Peeta and I did that night, farther than I usually go, even on days with Gale. 

The solitude is nicer than I expect it to be. It's easier, I find, being as far away from Gale as possible. Back home I have to stare at his blood stained across the kitchen counter or think about the papers hidden underneath the shed.

So the trip works out. I make out alright as well, even catch a wild turkey a couple hours out from the cabins. It's only when I've filled my game bag to the brim that I finally resolve to head back. After all, no point in even coming out here if my wares are spoiled by the time they're up for sale. 

As I walk back towards town, game swung across my shoulder, I try not to think about what happened last time I caught a turkey. The thought makes my stomach want to curl into knots, and it's something about the smell, or the thought of Gale's face smashed against the town square, that reduces me to puking in the bushes along the edge of the mercantile quarter.

I try to clean up as best as I can before heading into the general store and attempting to make a sale. The owner doesn't go for it, but he points me in the direction of Mayor Undersee's office.

"Man just bought out my entire stock of sugar," he tells me with a shrug, "having a party or something-might have use for that turkey of yours."

I thank him for the tip before heading out to the mayor's office. Undersee's sitting over some papers when I enter, a collection of paper bagged goods resting at the foot of his desk.

"Hear you're having a party," I say as I greet him, smoothing out the lines of my dress with my hands. "Madge's birthday?" I ask as I try to recall what day her's fell around.

He shakes his head. "Didn't you hear?" Mayor Undersee looks at me. "Peeta Mellark arrived by train this morning."

I freeze on instinct. "Peeta Mellark?" I squeak, my voice hoarse. " _Are you sure?_ "

Undersee smiles a little. "I'm quite sure, Katniss dear." He laughs. "Why, I saw him this morning. In fact, Mr. Mellark is set to meet with me later this afternoon. Apparently the man wants to build the district, make it part of a bigger line or something along that."

I relax slightly at that. As silly as it might be, for a moment I worried that Peeta had come back on my account rather than for business. "Of course," I reply curtly, "I'm sure that will be great for the town."

"That it will," the mayor replies jovially. "Now, Katniss, what do you have to sell to me?"

At that I swing my game bag around and produce the turkey. "It's fresh," I tell him. "I caught it just this morning."

Undersee brightens visibly. "Wonderful," he says as he produces the coins from a drawer in his desk. "I can hardly take it right now, but if you head down to my house the girl in the back will make arrangements for the bird. How about that?"

I thank him as I count the coins. I'm so anxious, so desperate to get out of here and be as far away as possible, that I don't notice the man in the doorway. It's only when I run smack dab into him and look up to apologize that I catch sight of the blonde hair and firm, familiar jaw.

Peeta's about as incredulous as I am. " _Katniss?_ "

* * *

**Author's Note: Ooh, Peeta's back! What do you think he's going to do - and better yet, why is he back in town?**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and girlonfirerecs. Remember to check out mores2sl on tumblr, I'm going to be donating a story to that collection!**


	14. Flicker

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content. Please remember that there is rhyme and reason to everything, especially the first part of this chapter.**

* * *

_**Two Months Prior** _

* * *

"Peeta," I freeze, open mouthed. "You're—"

"Katniss— _Ms. Everdeen_ ," Peeta corrects himself, quickly fixing a polite smile onto his face, for my benefit or the mayor's I'm not sure. "It is a pleasure to see you again. Tell me, how is your mother doing?"

"She's well, thank you," I reply, a shiver running up my spine as he turns to face me, his body now blocking the exit.

There's nothing about this man before me that I can not reconcile with the times we spent together. Gone is that energy that always bounced between us, the little half smiles and knowing looks. Before, when I'd see him in the square there was a certain safety about his presence. But now that's all gone. It almost feels unreal, like we never shared a bed, like I imagined it.

"And Gale?" Peeta asks, swallowing. It's then that I notice he's recently had his hair cut, slicked back into something I'm sure is terribly fashionable out east. He's clean shaven too, and some small, instinctual part of me wants to run my fingers against his jaw.

"Gale's...fine," I tell him, stammering awkwardly as I blink out of thought. "My mother says he is progressing nicely."

"Lovely," Peeta responds with a flash of teeth. Pushing past me, he moves towards the mayor's desk. "Well, send your mother and sister my regards. And if you—"

I cut him off. "I will, Mr. Mellark. Anyways," my eyes linger on Peeta's wool suit, "I should be heading out. Thank you again, Mr. Undersee," I say with a nod towards the mayor. "Tell Madge I said hello."

At that I turn on my heel with a slight curtsy and reach for the door, desperate to get away from him, from everything, before it really hits me that he's _back_.

"Wait—" Peeta calls out and I freeze on the office's front porch, my fists clenched to my sides in frustration.

" _Yes_ ," I let out, teeth gritted in agitation.

"Here," Peeta says, jogging up to me and pressing a small piece of paper in my hand. "You dropped this, Ms. Everdeen."

"Oh, uh, thanks," I squint, forehead wrinkling. For the mayor's sake I don't bother mentioning that it isn't mine.

It's only when the door is closed behind me that I untuck the folded piece of paper. I know it's his before I even read it. The note is sturdy in my hand, cardstock, the good kind that the postmaster sells in dime sheets.

The words are even more damning.

_Can we talk?_

_9:00 in my traincar._

_I missed you._

* * *

I debate whether or not to go for the longest time. As I walk back from the mayor's house, a decent handful of coins now filling my pocket, I think back to what had transpired between us. I wonder for a moment if Peeta remembers it as clearly as I do, or if the memories of our bodies pressed together have merged with that of every other woman whose bed he has shared. Not that it matters, of course. I have no right to him; what he does with other women is entirely out of my concern.

I take another look at the note as I pass by the milliner.

_Can we talk?_

_9:00 in my traincar._

_I missed you._

I scoff at the last part. As if _he_ has right or reason to say he missed me when he was the one who left. Sharing my bed was hardly a revolutionary thing for him. I highly doubt that I am the only woman whose bed he has shared over the past few months. Surely there were girls in the Capitol, girls far more experienced and primped than anything you could find in twelve. _Missed me._ It was almost insulting for him to try that one, to think that pretty sentiments would make me forget the weeks Gale had spent laid out on my kitchen table. Maybe that worked fine enough with yankee ladies maids, but it wasn't nearly enough to convince me that I should meet with him. If anything, it only cautioned my more reasonable parts to stay away.

 _Stay away._ It was the choice most evidently in my best interests. Whether Peeta was here for business—or personal reasons—had nothing to do with me. So long as I avoided him, I could avoid getting myself involved in any questionable situations. Besides, I had more pressing things to think about, like how I was going to put food on two tables next week or what we were going to do if Gale couldn't go back to work before Spring.

* * *

My mother greets me when I get back home. Prim has already eaten, but she's started our dinner, some kind of watery stock that's a half-hearted attempt to get rid of excess game. "I hear Mr. Mellark's back in town?" she says as she leans over the stove.

I toss what remains of my game bag on the table. "Yeah?"

Readjusting her apron, my mother leans against a drawer and faces me. "Hazelle heard it from one of the ladies she mends for."

"Oh," I say, shrugging. I feel oddly flushed—heatedly embarrassed—at her tone, and I pull my cloak tighter around my arms despite the heat leaching in from the stove.

The question comes abruptly. "Did you see him yet?" she spits out, one hand braced on her hip.

I stare blankly ahead as I try to ascertain exactly what she knows. "What?" I creak out.

"Did you see him?" she repeats, grabbing a wooden spoon from the shelf and slowly stirring in the chunks of rabbit. "I know you two are...friendly, at least that's how it seemed when he brought in Gale."

"We aren't friends," I tell her quickly. "And yes, I ran into him earlier at the mayor's office."

She reaches into the cabinet, pouring a small amount of salt into the stew before turning back to me and tugging her hands out of her pockets. " _Katniss…_ " she says in a tired, warning tone that tells me everything I need to hear.

"Look," I pace in spot, anxious to get out of here before I confirm her suspicions. "It's not—"

The stew over boils and my mother reaches behind to pull the pot off the heat. "No," she smiles softly, the corners of her eyes turning up in wrinkles, "it never is."

I bite my lip and stare at my skirts. I'm not sure how, or what, she knows, but _I_ know no good will come from her discovering anything about the two of us. She'd never pry, our complicated relationship only functions if the both of us stay out of each other's way, but it would make everything more awkward than it already is.

"Look," I swallow as I form an excuse, my throat suddenly feeling dry. "I have...to get something out of the shed."

" _Alright,_ Katniss," she nods, sighing into the stove. "If you ever need to—"

"I will," I cut her off, staring down to scratch at a loose strand of fabric on my knee. She imperceptibly shakes her head at that, and I take the moment to dash towards the back door before she has the chance to say anything else.

The cold hits me before anything else. It has fallen in temperature since I went hunting earlier, fresh snow now coating the sloped roof of the shed. The shed door sticks a little, perhaps due to the weather, and I make a mental note to oil it before collapsing against the straw covered floor.

I feel unnerved, even here. There is something about Peeta Mellark being in reach that terrifies me. Even if over the passing weeks some small part of me had wanted him to never leave, there was always a certain security in knowing that I wouldn't have to face him forever.

Now that he has come back that has all changed, because even if he only stays for a week or two the threat of him returning again will always be there. The comfort in never having the ability to want more is gone. What had he been thinking, showing up like that? Shouldn't he have written, or at least sought me in some way?

I sigh into a sack of flour. Maybe it would be better if I just showed up tonight. Knowing Peeta, he will never let me me be until I at least speak to him. At least now I have forewarning.

The sky is dark overhead when I finally give in and exit the shed. "I'm heading out," I tell my mother as I cross through the house. "Don't wait up."

Snow crunches underneath my boots as I make my way through the snow. I knew the sun had set a while ago, but the gloomy shadow of the moon makes me realize how late I must be. It has to be what, ten or eleven by now? Either way, I'm starting to feel vulnerable, naked, without a lantern and only a small knife for protection. By the time I sneak across the train yard it's almost pitch black and it takes me a good ten minutes in the cold snow to ascertain what car belongs to Peeta. Luckily, after a while I end up spotting a thin sliver of light peeking through one of the doors and upon further inspection feel confident enough to pry open the door.

"Hey, Peeta," I call out for him as I step inside of the car. "Sorry I'm late, I got caught up with a few things."

Peeta's laid out on the settee, his feet propped up against a side table and his hands wrapped around a bottle. He stares blankly when he notices me, pausing slightly before returning to his drink without even a nod.

I fold my coat over my arms at first, but when he hasn't responded to me for long enough to make it awkward I finally speak up in an attempt to make conversation. "How was your time in the Capitol?"

He lets his head fall dramatically into one of the pillows. "Well," he says with a shrug and quirk of an eyebrow, "I spent the past weekend with these two women…"

My breath quickens at that and as my cheeks flare I turn on my heels, halfway ready to leave. We hadn't seen each other for months and that's the anecdote he chooses to greet me with? When he claimed to miss me and had called me here to _talk_?

"I'm kidding, Katniss," Peeta says with an almost annoyed air before I can place my hand on the knob. "Calm down and try not to act so jealous."

I grit my teeth at his casual, condescending tone. "I _am not_ jealous," I reply thickly, scowling in his direction.

"Whatever you say, _dear_ ," he chuckles into his drink.

"You came back," I stare at him, my short temper growing increasingly tired of his antics with every second that passes. "Why?"

He reaches over for a bottle of some kind of brown liquor and takes a long swig before looking up at me. "Yeah, well, you see I had this fantasy of you in this little red—"

I reach for the most accessible part of him, his left foot, and yank at it until he abruptly shuts up. " _Peeta_ ," I hiss. "You summoned me out here to talk, _so talk_. What is it," I ask, letting out an aggravated sigh. "What are you doing back here after all this time?"

"What?" he says, raising his arms in mock innocence. "It's true, eventually certain persuasions won out and I just couldn't stop myself." He eyes me up and down dramatically. "Dear god, have I ever told you how much I like your breasts? They really are divine."

I shake my head at the half-recognizable creature before me. "I'm leaving," I sniff at him as I slip an arm back into my coat. "Have fun with your little fantasy."

"Oh just wait," Peeta whines like a child. "You're not being any fun, Katniss. Tell me," he downs the last half of his glass, "what do I have to _pay_ to make this happen?"

"Make what happen?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer.

"You," he says with a sly smile, "the little red thing. What is it going to cost me?" When I stare blankly at him he only shoots back another drink. "Oh, come on, Katniss. I know you're not opposed to this kind of arrangement."

I stop dead in my tracks. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Look, I'm not opposed to paying...I just like to know upfront. So tell me, Katniss, is it twenty, thirty dollars? What does it take to buy you for the night?"

I'm slapping him across the face before I even know what's happened. "I...I hate you," I tell him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Rot in hell."

I turn on my heels and fling the door open as quickly as possible. I'm down the steps and a few feet into the train yard when I notice it.

All around me is a blanket of snow.

* * *

_**Present** _

* * *

Peeta leaves me at the steps of the house, too afraid of my mother to go any further. "Come on," I say, looping my hand around his, "come inside. I'll make you some tea for the walk back."

He freezes at the suggestion, adamantly shaking his head. "No," he says, "I can't. What would that look like to your family so late at night?"

I snort at him. "We're engaged, Peeta. And besides, my mother already knows about the baby. What more trouble could you cause?"

Peeta's eyes widen. " _Exactly,_ " he hisses, "she already knows. That's why it's so uncomfortable."

I roll my eyes at him. "Have it your way," I say, moving to kiss him before he can run away. He laughs and swats me away, catching me with his arm and twirling me towards the door.

"Take care," he says with a tip of the hat as I pry open the door. I watch him for a moment as he walks away, my hands turning white as I grip the door handle.

Then somebody flings the door wide open.

It's Prim and she is almost manic with excitement. "Momisawayforabirthing," she explains in one rush of a sentence, "but I stayed up waiting for you. Oh Katniss," she squeals, jumping up and down and pulling me into a hug, "You're getting married!"

I pull her hair back and press a kiss to her forehead. "That I am," I say with a soft smile. "How'd you hear?"

"You know," Prim says, "it's all around town, on account of your marrying Mr. Mellark and all. Oh, Katniss," she giggles, "I'll forgive you for not telling me sooner if you promise to give me every little detail. It's all so romantic."

I try not to snort at that. Peeta and I's story is a complete opposite to whatever dreamy fantasy my sister has concocted in her head.

"Maybe later," I tell her, too drained to think of a good story. Some part of me wished that I didn't have to lie to her. It would be nice to have somebody to confide in, but the last thing I want to do is tear away at her innocent naivety, or worse yet, corrupt the idol she has made out of me.

She huffs in protest and I wrap my arms around her shoulders. "Come on," I lean my head against hers, "we should both head to bed."

* * *

It's Prim who shakes me awake in the morning. " _Wake up,_ Katniss," she groans. "Wake up, come on! Peeta," a giggle, "is here to see you."

I yawn at that, finally giving in and squinting my eyes open. It's bright outside, at least nine or so if the light cascading into my room is any measure.

"Peeta's here?" I ask as I go to sit up. If she's telling the truth, he must be wanting to get a head start on making arrangements for the wedding.

She nods, flopping backwards on the bed in enthusiasm. "He is, and he brought a big floral box with him. Mama thinks it's a present for you. _Ooh,_ " her eyes light up, "I bet he got it in the Capitol."

I smile softly at her as I pull myself out of bed. "I'm sure it's nothing," I tell her, buttoning up my dress as quickly as possible.

Despite my dismissal, Prim prattles on about all the grand things Peeta might have brought me: a silk veil, an antique dish set, even a fancy carpet bag like the one in the Sears-Roebuck catalogue. By the time I've redone my braid and fastened my boots she must have listed off a thousand different things, each more extravagant than the last.

"Well," I tell her, rolling my eyes as I reach for the door, "I will be sure to tell you if he actually did bring me a collection of gilded mockingjays."

Prim looks me up and down, her previous thought abandoned. "You're going to see him like _that_?" she asks, wrinkling her nose at my appearance.

I look down at my everyday dress and old boots. "Peeta knows what I look like, Prim," I reach over to muss her hair. "Now come on, you should go see if mother needs any help."

When we exit the room the first thing I notice is Peeta. He's sitting in the chair by the fire, the box Prim was so excited about still clutched in his hands. It's big, fancy too, covered in some kind of floral wallpaper pattern and secured with a large blue ribbon.

"Prim," my mother says pointedly when she notices us, "why don't you head out to the shed and help me find my good scissors."

My sister is reluctant, her curiosity getting the better of her, but my mother's glare has her out of the house before Peeta can even stand to greet me.

" _Katniss_ ," he says my name like the word itself is a greeting. "I brought you something."

I laugh at that, quirking my lips into a half-turned smile. "So I hear."

Peeta lets out an airy breath. "Prim?" he says knowingly as he motions for me to take a seat in the chair beside him.

Ignoring his suggestion, I slump down on the mostly bare carpet in front of him. He rolls his eyes but quickly joins me, package and all.

His eyes linger for a moment too long on my bare finger. "Haven't come to your better senses, I hope?"

I pull the ring out from the safe confines of my sock and dangle it in front of him. "Nope," I say as I shove it back on my finger. I peer down at him. "If the offer still stands, that is."

"Of course," he says, quick to assure me. His hands are clammy, I notice, as he places a gentle hand on my forearm. He both stare at each other for a moment and he swallows. "I've never been in love before," he says, pushing the box. "You know that."

I pause, looking up at him. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's just," he pauses to collect his thoughts, "I want this to work. For the baby. I want the two of us to be honest with each other, to be open and kind and…" he shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm saying."

I rest my head against his shoulder. "Peeta…"

He kisses the top of my head. "Come on," he says, "just open it."

Peeta looks up expectantly as I slowly undo the ribbons and pry the top half off. "Oh," I say, letting out a gasp as I take in the pretty spread of white fabric and lace. "It's beautiful."

I don't even notice the locket until I've already pulled half of the dress out. The gold clatters against the wooden floor, clinking across a few beams before finally settling in front of me.

It's when I reach to pick it up that I catch the writing on the back. " _Together, always,_ " it reads in a fancy carved script. I take a closer look, twirling it in my fingers for a moment. On the front is an elaborately carved tree dotted with birds and set in front of a lake. The back is a house, a big one with nine individual windows. The piece is elaborately made (and awfully expensive, I'd imagine). Despite its relatively small size, you can practically see the feather and shutters and leaves. _It's not the kind of thing that can be completed overnight._

I freeze with realization. " _Peeta_ ," I ask, my voice tightening, "when did you have this made."

"I brought it back with me from the Capitol," he admits with a swallow. He chews anxiously on the bottom of his lip. "You like it, right?"

"The Capitol?" My head floods with a million possible explanations. "But you were only there—"

" _Two months ago_ ," he cuts me off. "I had it made two months ago."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, I guess you can figure out some things about the first part of the chapter now?! Let me know what you thought in the comments below, and please trust me. Peeta will redeem himself in the flashback scenes:) PS, the Sears-Roebuck catalog came out in the 1890s, but I liked that line so I decided to roll with it.**

**As always, thank you to my lovely beta dandelionlass for being the most awesome beta ever!**


	15. Inferno

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. This is not beta-ed due to time constraints, but shout out to my awesome beta, dandelionlass, for being a total bamf!**

* * *

**_Present_ **

* * *

_"Two months ago," he cuts me off. "I had it made two months ago."_

"You mean," I pause, wrinkling my brow. "Back then, even?"

He smiles sadly. "I told you as much, right?"

I breathe in. There's something nearly bizarre about him thinking of me in that way, especially when I consider what had happened between us all those months ago. "Yeah, but I didn't think...I never thought you meant it that way."

He slides his finger over the imprint of the house. "I know we didn't know each other all that well, but I was willing to offer it—everything—to you back then. That's when I made arrangements for the house, you know."

I smile faintly as I remember what transpired between the two of us. "I'm guessing that didn't go according to plan."

He laughs at that and pulls his arm around my waist. "No," he says with a half-cocked grin, "not exactly."

I'm not sure where it comes from, or why I feel the need to ask, but the words that we have only spoken of once unspill from my mouth. "Do you love me?" I ask him.

His eyes widen at my question and he glances downward before finally sighing. "I do," he tells me as he brushes a lock of blonde hair away from his eyes. "I love you. I've loved you for a while now. I think, even before I knew it myself."

* * *

**_Two Months Prior_ **

* * *

Peeta's chugging back another bottle when I stumble inside.

"Rethought my offer?" he asks, barely looking up. He looks half dead, the lingering scent of liquor still present in the air.

I turn my nose up at him in thinly veiled disgust. "It's snowing," I tell him matter of factly as a gust of wind brushes by us. The tell-tale howl of a snowstorm is pushing against the train car. "I thought—you know what, I'll find somewhere else to go."

A hot anger creeps up my neck as I turn on my heel and head towards the door. But, before I can head into the unforgiving cold, he shoots upward to stop me.

"Don't be stupid, Katniss. I'm sorry, wait—" he says, slightly aggravated, as he reaches out and grabs for my wrist, "I'll leave you alone, 'kay? Just stay."

There's a crack—maybe a tree falling—and I sigh, my shoulders slumping downward as I take in the confines of this room. "I'm taking the bed," I tell him matter of factly.

He only nods before giving a nearly absent look towards the door. "Come on," he says, steadying himself against the arm of an end table, "I'll show you where the extra blankets are."

Peeta sways slightly as he guides me through to the bedroom. "I'll be out there if you need me," he says, still slurring, as he places a woolen blanket in my hand.

I give him a nod and turn for the bed. But, before I can even sit down, he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a brown parchment envelope. "Here," he says, placing what must be at least two hundred dollars beside me on the mattress, "just take it."

There is no pride in it, but when I stare down at that stack of bills I almost consider the implication of his offer. It's more money than I've ever seen in one place in my entire life and there's something about its presence that nearly knocks the breath out of me. _Two hundred dollars._ A man could work years for that in the mines...and Prim, what could I stand to give her with that kind of money?

I don't allow myself to let on to this, though. Instead, I quickly flatten my expression and toss the money back at him. "I'm not going to sleep with you, Peeta."

The corners of his mouth raise as he takes on that sardonic tone I'm all too familiar with. "Think of it as a services rendered, then. _Back pay._ "

My hand connects with his face before I even know what I'm doing. "You're a pig," I spit at him as the sting of my slap radiates across the room.

His shoulders slouch downward as he bonelessly slumps against the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm drunk, we shouldn't even be here," he says, eyes hesitant—tense—in a way that oddly reminds me of a trapped animal.

He looks almost like a child now with his hair messily slicked against his forehead and his jacket half askew. I don't think I've ever seen him so—vulnerable, and there's something about it that makes me deeply uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says, wiping his brow as he goes to stand up. He forces a smile, "Have a nice night, Katniss."

I watch him as he stumbles out of the room and half soberly closes the door behind him. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be with him—somehow so close and yet distantly removed at the same time.

I wonder for a moment, as I'm curling up in the confines of the expansive bed, if he truly thinks I'm a whore. Everything about him confuses me. How can somebody be so tender in one moment and callous in the next?

I fall asleep as the wind subsides into a gentle sway around me. I'm not sure if it's the unfamiliarity or just the day's events, but its not long before I find myself subsiding into a nightmare I know all too well.

I'm around to the part where the mine closes up on me when a hard, panicked shaking draws me awake.

_It's Peeta_ , I know immediately from the way his fingers feel wrapped around my arms and the near terrified tone of my name being repeated over and over again.

"You were screaming," he tells me as my eyes flutter awake. He lets out an only half-relieved breath. "I thought you were being attacked."

"It was just a nightmare," I tell him with a shrug as I move to sit up. "I've gotten them since my father died."

"Oh," he "You're okay?" he affirms as he tucks the corner of the blanket over my shoulder. "You're still here."

His hand is cold as it brushes against me, and it is then that I remember the snow pattering against the roof and the seeping chill that has found me even here underneath the heavy covers.

"Stay," I tell him with a tug on his wrist. I know full well that Peeta has no place in my life, but there's no harm in keeping him for just this night, not when I've already let him take everything else I have to give.

He sucks in a breath and I can feel the hesitation even in our touch. "You sure?" he asks.

I nod, pulling gently on his arm as a thunderous boom sends a wave of light through the room. He gives in then, sliding in beside me, though not daring to slip under the sheets.

"You're staying?" I ask, perhaps too hopefully, as his arms press around my waist and I sigh into the safety that they provide.

I'm too sleepy to catch his response.

* * *

I wake before Peeta does. He looks younger when he's asleep—almost peacefully tangled up in the sheets, arms still slung around me.

Nonetheless, he reeks of liquor and it's enough to persuade me to carefully slip out from underneath him without a word. It must be at least a couple hours after dawn by the time I make my way to the merchant quarter, but much to my luck, it's practically dead on the account of the weather and I'm able to trudge into the Seam without seeing another soul.

I decide to check on the Hawthornes before heading back home. As much as I want to reassure my family that I'm still alive, I know full well that Hazelle won't be able to handle the storm without Gale's help.

It's not until after I have hauled several buckets of hot water and shoveled a path through the snow that I'm able to head back home. "You better hurry back," Hazelle says to me rather pointedly as I check the latch on her shed. "I can't say I'm not grateful, but the _hours_ you have been keeping have been worrying us all. Take care of yourself."

I try not to think about the implications of her words as I slink back home, the cold air permeating through by now wet clothing.

My mother's the only one home when I arrive. Prim, I deduce by the lack of coat in the doorway, has gone over to watch one of the babies my mother and her birthed the other day.

"I'm home!" I announce as I fight with the wind to slam the door shut behind me. "I'm sorry I just—" I start as I toss some of my more snow coated layers to the ground.

"Peeta Mellark came by this morning," my mother cuts me off, barely looking up from her mending.

I freeze instinctively. There's something about the tone of her voice, the knowing candor in it all, that sets me on edge. "He did?" I ask, my heart pounding at the thought of all the things he could have said to her.

She nods. "He dropped off two hundred dollars for the Hawthornes. I brought it over to Hazelle this morning when the snow cleared up a bit. Can you imagine that, _two hundred_ dollars?"

I relax slightly at that, Hazelle's words from earlier still ringing in my ears. _Take care of yourself._ What on earth had she meant by that? "Did he say anything else?" I ask in a tone that I hope isn't too curious.

She nods, pulling a thread through before responding. "He tried to offer me twenty dollars for my medical services."

"You refused, right?" I ask as I reach for an apple that's sitting on the counter and toss it around in my hands.

My mother's lips form a flat line. "I tried," she says with a sigh, "but he left it on the stoop anyways. It's the funniest thing, though. When I informed him that was well above my going rates, he tried to argue that the money could be considered payment for all the work you have done for the Hawthornes. Now, what I can't seem to quite figure out is how he would know about that, him being gone for the time and all."

My face falls into a flat line. "He's a powerful man. They tend to know what's—"

"Katniss," my mother's tone is short, "I know full well it's none of my business, but dear lord, I do hope you haven't gotten yourself into anything you'll regret later on."

I take a bite of my apple. "I'm not sure what you mean," I tell her flatly, my shoulders tensing.

"I know you don't want to discuss this with me," my mother swallows, sighing lightly as she brushes a stray hand of hair from her forehead, "but christ, Katniss, I hope you don't think you were—wherever you were last night—on our behalf."

"It's not like that," I tell her. "Nothing is...it's not what you think it is."

"I was young once too," she tells me as she goes to stand. "I know the way a man looks at a woman."

* * *

It's not hard to find a man like Peeta in a town like this. He's not where I expect him to be, holed up in that stupid train car with a stack of papers and another bottle of scotch, when I barge in. It's unlocked, of course, like most doors in this town, and I don't even think about the propriety of it all—or the chance that somebody else is with him—when I burst inside.

"Katniss!" he exclaims, eyes shooting open wide, when I slam the door behind me.

I ask my question with no semblance of pleasantries. "Why are you here, Peeta?"

He spits out an answer like he's standing in front of a podium. "Twelve provides very strategic access to the west. I'm going to work on redeveloping the town in order to meet the demands of a heightened train schedule."

I scoff at that. "And you couldn't hire somebody to oversee this project?"

He takes a moment to think about that one. "I could have, but then I wouldn't be here with you."

"Is that so?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "You came all the way here just to argue with me."

"Well this wasn't exactly how I saw this going."

"Oh, I'm sure." I let out a huff of anger. "Pardon me, but I'm not exactly convinced I'm such a good lay that you came all the way out to twelve to bed me again."

He laughs, shaking his head ever so slightly as he stares me down. "We're more than that, Katniss. We're more than that and you know it."

"Really?" I ask him sharply. "Because last night I was your paid whore."

He winces. "Katniss," he says, reaching a hand out towards me, "you know I didn't mean that. I know it's no excuse, but I was drunk and hurt and angry."

I slap his hand away with such force that I stumble backwards. "I don't want to talk to you any more than I want to screw you. Jesus Christ, Peeta. You went behind my back to my mother-my mother, for god's sake."

"The money was yours," he says with a shrug. "I wanted to give it to you. Your mother was merely a way for me to ensure that you're not off working yourself to death out of some stupid pride."

"It wasn't your right to do that," I feel the heat gather in my chest as I look at him. His eyes flash back at me with a near violent blue and I take a moment to let my voice settle into a quiet plead before finishing my tirade. "For the love of god, just stay out of my life. _That's all_ I'm asking of you."

I don't expect the words that come.

He stands as he says it, enclosing his hand around my fingers as the words slip out. " _I came here for you, Katniss."_

* * *

**Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for the great delay. I have been positively swamped for the past few months, and unfortunately, real life obligations (*cough* *cough* school) had to take precedence over my love for writing.**

**Please forgive me, and let me know what you think in the comments below.**


End file.
